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UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS  LIBRARY  AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


THE  STRANGE  CASE 


OF 

Henry  Tope  ass 

AND  Capt.  Shiers 

I 

BV 

JOHN  W.  POSTGATE 


CHICAGO 

W:  B,  CONKEY  COMPANl 


COPYRIGHT.  1898. 

By  MORRILL.  HIGGINS  &  CO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1898, 

By  W.  B.  con  key  COMPANY. 


f 


.  \  . 
\ 


■t 


*  CONTENTS. 

a  . 

CHAPTER. 

PAGE. 

I 

The  Reporter’s  Assignment. 

7 

II 

The  Reporter  at  Work. 

- 

15 

III 

A  Salvation  Sister. 

- 

27 

IV 

The  Captain  of  the  Army. 

- 

35 

V 

A  Dreadful  Shipwreck, 

* 

42 

VI 

The  Curse  of  Rum.  '  - 

55 

VII 

Captain  Shiers  Goes  Mad.  • 

m 

65 

VIII 

Life  in  Lancashire. 

• 

71 

IX 

The  Reporter  Writes  an  Article.  - 

• 

77 

X 

News  of  a  Long  Lost  Uncle.  - 

• 

83 

XI 

The  Scar  on  His  Forehead. 

- 

92 

XII 

Forebodings  of  Trouble. 

m 

100 

XIII 

The  Doctor’s  Strange  Discovery,  v  - 

- 

XIV 

At  the  Salvation  Barracks. 

• 

X2I 

XV 

Little  Bob’s  Account  of  His  Father. 

• 

128 

XVI 

Barton  Tells  His  Story. 

- 

137 

XVII 

Jealousy  at  Work. 

• 

148 

XVIII 

Another  Curious  Complication. 

m 

*55 

XIX 

Captain  Shiers  Slips  the  Traces.  • 

•- 

168 

XX 

Ned  Barton  Murdered.  - 

m 

177 

XXI 

Breaking  the  News  to  Mrs.  Shiers, 

m 

184 

XXII 

The  Salvation  Captain  Dead. 

m 

192 

XXIII 

By  the  Grave  at  Woodlawn. 

m 

201 

■  ~v 


939 1 90 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  reporter’s  ASSIGNMENT. 

“See  what  you  can  make  of  this,”  said  the  City 
Editor  one  afternoon  in  June  i88-  when  I  reported 
for  duty  as  a  member  of  the  local  staff  of  a  Chicago 
newspaper.  He  handed  me  the  following  clipping 
from  a  rival  journal: 

There  was  an  exciting  scene  at  the  meeting  of 
the  Salvation  Army  last  night.  During  their  wild 
and  curious  service,  Captain  Shiers  placed  his  cornet 
to  his  lips  and  played  a  few  bars  of  “Nearer,  my 
God,  to  Thee.”  A  well-dressed  lady  in  the  audience 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  cried:  “It  is  he!  my  husband, 
oh!  my  husband!”  and  then  fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 
The  meeting  was  at  once  thrown  into  a  fever  of  ex¬ 
citement.  It  was  evident  that  the  lady’s  exclamation 
had  reference  to  the  musical  Salvationist,  who  is  a 
married  man,  and  one  of  the  most  active  members 
of  the  noisy  army.  Captain  Shiers  was  among  the 
first  to  rush  to  the  assistance  of  the  lady,  who 
quickly  recovered  from  her  fainting  fit  and  threw 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  crying.  “Oh!  Henry,  I 


8 


THE  reporter’s  ASSIGNMENT. 


have  found  you  at  last!  Take  me  home!  Take  me 
home!  Captain  Shiers  seemed  bewildered  by  the 
lady’s  conduct,  and  to  increase  the  confusion  into 
which  the  meeting  was  thrown,  his  wife,  who  plays 
the  tambourine  in  the  street  parades,  rushed  for¬ 
ward  shouting,  “The  woman  must  be  out  of  her 
mind;  this  is  my  husband!”  The  two  women  stared 
strangely  at  each  other,  while  Captain  Shiers,  who 
had  recovered  his  self-possession,  said  calmly,  “Fm 
afraid  you’re  laboring  under  some  delusion,  ma’am; 
Fve  nivver  seen  you  before;  this  is  my  waife.”  The 
tambourinist  turned  and  glanced  proudly  into  the 
captain’s  face,  and  then  kissed  him  as  though  she 
wished  to  give  instant  emphasis  to^the  fact  that  he 
was  truly  her  liege  lord.  For  a  moment  or  two  the 
lady  who  had  caused  the  scene  looked  at  them  in  a 
dazed  fashion,  and  then  murmuring,  “Oh!  Fm  sorry; 
excuse  me,”  moved  quickly  out  of  the  hall,  and  was 
soon  lost  to  view  in  the  crowded  street.  The  ser¬ 
vice  proceeded  as  usual  after  this  strange  interrup¬ 
tion,  Captain  Shiers  prayed  for  the  poor  afflicted 

creature,  as  he  termed  the  lady  who  had  claimed 

0 

him  as  her  husband,  but  his  manner  betrayed  no  un¬ 
usual  emotion.  After  the  meeting  he  said  to  the 
reporter,  “It’s  something  beyond  my  ken.  I  nivver 


THE  reporter’s  ASSIGNMENT. 


9 


saw  the  woman  before.  Mebbe  she  wor  carried  wi’ 
excitement — a  kind  of  hysterical  like — and  she'll 
forgit  all  aboot  it  by  th’  morning.  This  is  my  waife; 
we’ve  been  married  sixteen  years  or  mair.”  He 
looked  lovingly  at  the  tambourinist,  who  took  his 
arm  proudly  and  confidingly  as  they  left  the  meet¬ 
ing  place.  No  one  knew  the  lady  whose  sensational 
declaration  and  fainting  fit  added  another  to  the 
many  queer  scenes  which  this  band  of  noisy  fana¬ 
tics  have  caused  in  Chicago. 

“I  think  there  is  a  story  behind  this,”  continued 
the  City  Editor,  after  I  had  read  the  article.  “This 
Captain  Shiers,  I  am  told,  bears  a  close  facial  and 
physical  resemblance  to  Henry  Toplass,  the  South 
Water  Street  commission  merchant  who,  you  will  re¬ 
member,  disappeared  very  mysteriously  five  or  six 
years  ago.  Toplass  was  an  Englishman  by  birth  and 
a  man  of  fair  education.  This  Shiers  has  a  strong 
Yorkshire  accent,  and  he  speaks  so  naturally  that 
one  can  hardly  believe  it  assumed.  But  for  that 
fact  I  could  almost  swear  that  he  is  the  missing 
Toplass.  You  notice  that  the  lady  called  him  Henry. 
I  have  no  doubt  she  is  Mrs.  Toplass,  and  that 
she  was  attracted  to  the  meeting  by  rumors  of  the 
remarkable  resemblance  of  the  Salvationist  to  her 


10  THE  reporter's  ASSIGNMENT. 

missing  husband.  Look  into  the  matter  carefully. 
Call  on  Mrs.  Toplass,  and  have  a  talk  with  Shiers 
and  his  wife.  If  you  find  anything  in  the  case  write 
it  up  for  all  it  is  worth.  You  may  get  a  good 
“scoop.”  We  can  stand  something  lively  about 
those  salvation  cranks,  who  have  been  irritating  the 
public  with  their  peculiar  antics.” 

I  remembered  the  Toplass  disappearance  case, 
which  caused  a  profound  sensation  at  the  time. 
The  man  was  in  a  prosperous  way  of  business  and 
lived  in  a  handsome  house  on  Prairie  avenue.  His 
wife  was  one  of  the  leading  members  of  a  South 
Side  Episcopal  church.  They  had  two  pretty 
children,  and  their  domestic  life  was  spoken  of  as 
calm  and  happy.  Toplass  owned  considerable  real 
estate  and  had  a  large  sum  invested  in  railroad  se¬ 
curities.  Most  of  his  property  was  transferred  to 
his  wife  a  year  before  he  disappeared.  His  habits 
were  reported  correct  in  every  respect.  There  was 
apparently  no  blemish  on  his  character.  He  seemed 
devoted  to  his  wife  and  children.  To  his  clerks  he 
was  kind  and  considerate,  and  he  was  always  ready 
with  a  substantial  response  to  the  calls  of  charity^ 
In  short,  he  had  all  the  traits  of  an  open-handed 


THE  reporter’s  ASSIGNMENT. 


II 


merchant,  whose  life  was  running  in  smooth  and 
congenial  channels. 

One  Saturday  morning  in  September,  187--,  Mr. 
Toplass  kissed  his  wife  and  children  good-by  as 
usual,  promising  to  return  early  in  the  afternoon 
and  take  them  for  a  drive  to  South  Park.  He  was 
at  the  warehouse  attending  to  business  with  his  ac¬ 
customed  energy  until  lunch  time,  when  he  left  mat¬ 
ters  in  charge  of  his  chief  clerk,  William  Trowbridge, 
remarking  that  he  would  be  down  early  on  Monday 
morning  to  superintend  some  large  shipments  of 
produce.  After  he  turned  south  on  Clark  street, 
Mr.  Toplass  was  never  seen  again  by  any  one  who 
knew  him. 

Mrs.  Toplass  and  the  little  ones  waited  in  vain 
for  the  promised  carriage  ride.  She  thought  busi¬ 
ness  detained  her  husband,  and,  while  sorry  for  the 
disappointment  of  the  children  who  dearly  loved  an 
outing  with  papa,  gave  herself  no  uneasiness  until 
after  dinner,  when  the  absence  of  Mr.  Toplass  be¬ 
gan  to  alarm  her.  He  rarely  stayed  away  from  the 
evening  meal  without  sending  word.  Something 
had  gone  wrong,  she  was  convinced,  and  when  ii 
o’clock  struck  and  there  was  still  no  sign  of  her 
husband,  the  suspense  became  unbearable,  and  she 


12 


THE  reporter’s  ASSIGNMENT. 


rushed  to  the  Cottage  Grove  avenue  police  station 
and  startled  the  desk  sergeant  by  a  frantic  declara¬ 
tion  that  Mr.  Toplass  was  robbed  and  probably  mur¬ 
dered. 

The  officer  smiled  when  he  ascertained  that  this 
awful  crime  existed  only  in  the  imagination  of  his 
excited  visitor,  and  he  said  quietly: 

“Do  not  be  uneasy,  madam;  urgent  business  has 
undoubtedly  kept  Mr.  Toplass  from  home.  He 
will  be  with  you  safe  and  sound  before  long.” 

The  sergeant’s  confident  manner  soothed  Mrs. 
Toplass,  who  was  escorted  home  by  a  night  patrol¬ 
man.  But  she  watched  by  the  parlor  window  all 
that  night.  Every  footstep  on  the  avenue  caused 
her  to  start  with  nervous  fear;  the  tick  of  the  clock 
on  the  mantlepiece  filled  her  with  unutterable  dread. 
An  awful  foreboding  of  evil  came  upon  the  anxious 
woman,  and  when  the  morning  dawned  and  the  sun 
shot  furtive  rays  through  the  curtains,  her  drawn 
and  haggard  face  told  the  story  of  that  wretched 
vigil.  She  looked  ten  years  older  than  she  did 
when  her  husband  kissed  her  good-by  on  Saturday 
morning. 

Unable  to  contain  herself  longer,  by  six  o’clock 
Mrs.  Toplass  was  at  the  boarding  house  of  Mr. 


THE  reporter’s  ASSIGNMENT.  1 3 

Trowbridge  on  Wabash  avenue  asking  tidings  of  her 
missing  husband.  The  clerk  was  visibly  alarmed  by 
her  inquiries. 

“Not  home  yeti”  he  exclaimed;  “I  cannot  under¬ 
stand  it.  Mr.  Toplass  left  the  warehouse  at  one 
o’clock  yesterday  afternoon  stating  that  he  was  go¬ 
ing  home.” 

Mrs.  Toplass  fell  to  the  floor  in  a  swoon.  Con¬ 
signing  her  to  the  care  of  his  landlady,  the  clerk 
posted  off  to  police  headquarters  to  set  inquiries 
afoot  concerning  his  missing  employer.  Several 
officers  of  the  central  detail  were  put  to  work  on 
the  case,  but  no  trace  of  Mr.  Toplass  could  be  found. 
Days,  weeks,  and  months  passed,  but  despite  the 
most  vigorous  search  and  earnest  inquiries  through 
the  columns  of  the  press,  the  movements  of  the 
merchant  from  the  time  he  turned  homeward  on 
Clark  street  remained  enveloped  in  mystery. 

Suggestions  of  foul  play  led  to  no  clue.  There 
was  no  apparent  ground  for  Mr.  Toplass  deserting 
his  wife  and  family.  His  affairs  were  in  excellent 
shape;  his  business  was  prosperous;  not  the  slight¬ 
est  of  unfortunate  entanglements  was  given  by  his 
friends  and  associates.  Blessed  with  a  tranquil  happy 
home,  himself  of  a  sunny,  sanguine  temperament. 


14 


THE  reporter’s  ASSIGNMENT. 


none  suggested  suicide  as  a  solution  of  the  mys¬ 
tery. 

The  detectives,  with  their  customary  perspicuity 
decided  that  it  was  a  case  of  robbery  and  murder, 
but  they  did  not  produce  a  particle  o'f  evidence  to 
substantiate  this  theory.  Up  to  this  day  the  fate  of 
Mr.  Toplass  was  surrounded  by  dense  and  impene¬ 
trable  obscurity. 

Such,  in  brief,  was  the  history  of  this  mysterious 
disappearance.  This  incident  at  the  Salvation  army 
meeting  recalled  the  circumstances  vididly  to  my 
mind.  The  simple  intimation  that  Captain  Shiers 
was  wonderfully  like  Henry  Toplass  was  sufficient  in 
itself  to  arouse  the  professional  ardor  of  a  reporter. 
With  curious  thoughts  flashing  through  my  mind  I 
put  my  wad  of  copy  paper  in  my  pocket  and  started 
on  the  assignment. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 

Like  the  City  Editor,  I  had  jumped  to  the  con¬ 
clusion  that  Mrs.  Toplass  was  the  woman  who  in¬ 
terrupted  the  meeting  of  the  Salvationists,  and,  also 
like  him,  I  had  an  earnest  hope  that  Captain  Shiers 
would  prove  to  be  Henry  Toplass,  and  thus  settle  a 
case  which  had  given  an  army  of  astute  detectives 
no  end  of  trouble  and  solicitude.  This  hope,  I  may 
add  by  way  of  explanation,  sprang  directly  from  the* 
news  instinct  which  governs  the  work  of  most  re¬ 
porters,  and  not  from  a  desire,  as  some  readers  may 
imagine,  to  revel  in  the  salacious  particulars  such  a 
discovery  might  bring  to  light. 

Nothing  gives  a  newspaper  man  more  satisfac¬ 
tion  than  the  solution  of  mysteries  which  have  in¬ 
terested  the  public  and  baffled  the  investigating 
skill  of  self-styled  experts.  1  f  Captain  Shiers  turned 
out  to  be  the  missing  merchant,  the  public  would 
not  rest  content  until  all  the  details  of  his  strange 
disappearance,  his  curious  masquerading  and  peculiar 
relations  with  the  sister  who  proudly  called  him 


l6  THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 

husband,  were  spread  out  in  the  columns  of  the 
press.  A  metamorphosis  of  this  kind  is  uncommon 
even  in  these  days  of  startling  sensations,  and  the 
wildest  interest  would  be  aroused  by  its  exposure. 
Besides,  such  is  the  unconquerable  bias  of  society 
when  its  prejudices  are  touched,  it  would  intensify 
the  dislike  of  this  strange  band  of  religionists,  who 
think  bass  drums  and  trumpets,  tambourines  and 
castanets,  weird  groans  and  wild  articulations  aug¬ 
ment  the  saving  power  of  the  Gentle  Master's  name. 

It  was  with  some  misgivings  that  I  set  out  for 
the  Toplass  residence.  The  task  allotted  me  was  a 
delicate  one.  Few  persons  like  to  talk  of  their  pri¬ 
vate  sorrows  for  publication,  and  every  reporter  has 
a  profound  respect  for  the  sanctity  of  grief  and  do¬ 
mestic  tribulation.  It  is  true  that  the  contrary 
opinion  prevails  in  non-professional  circles;  but  if 
those  who  rail  about  the  alleged  prying  proclivi¬ 
ties  and  heartlessness  of  news-gatherers  had  an  ink¬ 
ling  of  the  many  scandals  mercifully  suppressed  in 
the  local  room  of  a  daily  newspaper,  they  would 
stand  aghast  at  the  unrevealed  wickedness  of  the 
world,  and  ask  pardon  of  the  reporters  for  their 
ignorant  and  ill-natured  censure. 


THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 


17 


Now,  although  the  disappearance  of  Henry  Top- 
lass  was  common  property  in  a  news  sense,  and  the 
publicity  at  the  time  of  its  occurence  one  of  the  best 
means  for  determining  his  fate,  yet  it  was  improba¬ 
ble  that  his  wife  would  willingly  divulge  the  circum¬ 
stances  which  led  her  to  attend  the  salvation  meet¬ 
ing  and  impelled  the  hysterical  declaration  that 
Captain  Shiers  was  her  long-lost  spouse.  A  knowl¬ 
edge  of  these  circumstances  was  necessary  for  the 
investigation;  how  to  obtain  that  knowledge,  should 
Mrs.  Toplass  shrink  from  disclosing  the  facts,  was 
the  problem  which  confronted  me  when  I  presented 
my  card  at  No.  —  Prairie  Avenue  and  requested  an 
audience. 

I  was  shown  into  the  parlor,  and  the  neat  house¬ 
maid  returned  with  the  message  that  Mrs.  Toplass 
would  join  me  in  a  few  moments.  Over  the  mantel 
was  the  full-length  portrait  of  a  good-looking  portly 
man;  it  bore  the  signature  of  Ivan  Peronet,  and 
was  a  strong  and  artistic  piece  of  work.  I  surmised 
at  once  that  it  was  a  counterfeit  presentment  of 
Henry  Toplass,  and  I  made  a  close  study  of  the  face 
and  figure  for  professional  purposes. 

^he  face  was  a  striking  one.  The  forehead 

broad,  white  and  unwrinkled;  the  eyes  a  deep  hazel, 
2G 


1 8  THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 

and  with  a  steady,  frank  expression;  the  nose  rather 
short,  fleshy  and  wide  at  the  nostrils;  the  lips  full 
and  sensual,  with  an  incurve  at  the  corners  which 
physiognomists  say  is  a  sure  sign  of  weakness  or  : 
irresolution.  A  brown  mustache  partly  concealed 
this  defect.  Otherwise  the  face  was  pleasing.  It  - 
was  open  and  honest  and  suggestive  of  kindliness  ' 
and  good  temper.  The  poise  of  the  head  denoted 
self-possession  and  intelligence,  and  I  found  it  difli-  . 
cult  to  conceive  that  such  a  man  could  be  the  leader 
of  a  straggling  band  of  religious  enthusiasts 
whose  grotesque  attire  and  curious  customs  laid .  ' 
them  open  to  the  abuse  and  scorn  of  ribald  mobs. 

While  I  was  thus  dissecting  the  character  of  ^ 
Henry  Toplass  as  disclosed  by  the  portrait,  Mrs. 
Toplass  entered  the  parlor  and  with  a  timid,  nervous 
air  asked  the  object  of  my  visit.  She  was  a  slender, 
delicate  woman,  with  large  mournful  gray  eyes  and 
deep  lines  over  her  upper  lip  that  told  plainly  of  ^  ^ 
sorrow  and  suffering.  Her  face  had  been  beautiful;  . 
it  was  still  refined  and  interesting;  but  the  cheeks 
were  thin  and  sallow,  and  her  brow,  high  and  finely 
curved  at  the  temples,  was  creased  by  the  busy 

■y 

hand  of  carking  care.  Her  manner  was  gentle  and 
womanly;  her  voice  low  and  softly  toned,  albeit 


THE  REPORTER  At  WORE.  !9 

there  was  a  timorous  quiver  in  it  suggestive  of  grief 
and  anxiety. 

“Pardon  me,  Madam,”  I  said,  deeming  it  best  to 
plunge  at  once  into  the  subject,  “owing  to  an  inci¬ 
dent  that  occurred  at  the  salvation  army  meeting 
last  night — ” 

“For  pity's  sake,”  interrupted  Mrs.  Toplass, 
wringing  her  hands  nervously,  “let  that  matter  drop. 
I  was  mistaken,  sadly  mistaken.  That  man  cannot 
be  my  husband.  No!  Henry  would  never  turn  a 
deaf  ear  to  the  yearning  cry  of  his  wife's  heart.” 

I  did  not  expect  so  sudden  a  verification  of  the 
surmise  that  Mrs.  Toplass  was  the  lady  who  caused 
the  scene  at  the  Salvation  Army  meeting.  Her 
acknowledgment  promised  well  for  the  groundwork 
of  a  sensational  story.  The  plaintiveness  of  her 
last  words  indicated  a  lingering  doubt  as  to  the 
identity  of  Captain  Shiers. 

“Then  you  really  believed  your  husband  was 
conducting  the  meeting?”  I  asked. 

“Oh,  yes  I”  she  replied,  tears  springing  into  her 
eyes,  “I  seemed  to  hear  Henry’s  own  voice;  the  form 
and  face  were  the  same;  the  expression  of  the  eyes 
and  little  tricks  of  action — all  brought  up  the  pic¬ 
ture  of  my  husband,  whose  absence  I  have  mourned 


20  THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 

night  and  day  for  five  weary  years,  and  I  cried  out 
in  supreme  desolation  of  spirit.  But,  Ah  !  sir,  I  was 
deceived.  I  suppose  the  strange  likeness  and  the 
familiar  tones  of  voice  wrought  upop  my  anxious 
heart  until  I  scarce  knew  what  I  was  doing.  It  was 
a  trying  moment,  sir,  and  my  feelings  overcame 
me. 

Mrs.  Toplass  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  sobbed  bitterly.  Before  I  could  frame  any 
words  of  sympathy  she  mastered  the  tears  and 
begged  of  me  to  keep  further  mention  of  the  affair 
out  of  the  newspapers. 

“It  can  do  no  good,*'  she  said  mournfully,  “to 
revive  the  story  of  my  husband's  disappearance  or 
to  dwell  upon  the  grievous  mistake  I  made  last 
night.  Think  of  my  suffering,  sir;  do  not,  for  Heav¬ 
en’s  sake,  probe  again  the  wound  of  a  sacred  sorrow. 
You  may  do  harm  to  my — to  this  Captain  Shiers, 
who  is  evidently  a  devout  and  earnest  man.” 

Mrs.  Toplass  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when  I  told 
her  that  nothing  had  yet  been  published  that  con¬ 
nected  either  herself  or  missing  husband  with  the  in¬ 
cident  of  the  previous  night. 

“Oh  !  I  am  so  thankful,”  she  cried.  “It  would  be 
such  an  awful  thing  if — 


II 


THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 


21 


She  stopped  abruptly  and  looked  into  my  face 
with  some  confusion.  Could  it  be  that,  despite  the 
man’s  emphatic  denial,  she  still  believed  him  to  be 
her  husband?  Trusting  to  woman’s  impulsiveness 
to  settle  this  suspicion,  I  put  the  question  bluntly. 

“Tell  me  plainly,  madam;  do  you  still  think  Cap¬ 
tain  Shiers  is  your  missing  husband?” 

A  look  of  anxiety  overspread  her  face  as  she 
replied: 

“Oh  !  I  do  not  know;  I  do  not  know  what  to 
think.  He  is  so  much  like  Mr.  Toplass  in  face  and 
manner,  and,  then,  the  way  he  played  that  hymn — 
it  was  so  like  Henry  !” 

The  newspaper  paragraph  stated  that  the  hys¬ 
terical  cry  of  the  unknown  lady  quickly  followed 
the  captain’s  cornet  solo.  I  thought  of  this  as  I  in¬ 
quired: 

“Did  Mr.  Toplass  play  the  cornet?” 

“No,  sir;  but  at  times  he  used  to  amuse  the  chil¬ 
dren  by  imitating  musical  instruments,  and  one  of 
his  favorite  tunes  was  “Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee.” 
When  I  heard  that  played  last  night  a  peculiar  turn 
of  the  player  recalled  those  happy  days  to  my  mind. 
It  seemed  as  if  we  were  all  around  the  fireside 
again  I  seemed  to  see  Henry  romping  with  the 


22  THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 

little  ones;  I  seemed  to  hear  the  notes  of  the  hymn 
dropping  from  his  lips.  It  was  so  real,  so  cruelly 
vivid.  I  cried  out  to  Henry,  and  the  picture  van¬ 
ished.  It  was  a  bitter,  bitter  trial.*' 

The  woman  bent  her  head  again  and  wept.  I 
was  disappointed  by  her  explanation.  The  task  of 
unmasking  Captain  Shiers  would  have  been  easier 
had  Mr.  Toplass  been  a  cornet  player,  as  there 
is  a  distinctiveness  of  style  in  the  manipulation  of 
that  instrument  almost  as  valuable  for  detective 
purposes  as  peculiarities  in  handwriting.  But  this 
imitative  faculty  of  the  missing  merchant  was  worth 
remembering,  and  I  made  a  mental  note  of  it  for 
use  during  the  inquiry. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Toplass  became  composed,  1 
asked: 

“How  did  you  learn  of  the  resemblance  of  Cap¬ 
tain  Shiers  to  your  husband?” 

“Through  one  of  the  servants,”  she  answered. 
“The  girl,  who  was  with  us  in  the  happy  days,  at- 
tended  a  meeting  of  the  Salvation  army  and  was 
startled  by  the  surprising  likeness.  The  man 
dosen’t  talk  like  Mr.  Toplass,”  she  told  me,  “but  he 
has  the  same  heavy  voice,  the  same  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  and  were  it  not  that  his  hair  is  grayer 


THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 


23 


and  thinner  about  the  temples,  I  could  almost  swear 
to  him/’  This  information  perplexed  me.  I  could 
not  believe  that  Henry  would  play  a  double  part. 
I  could  not  imagine  him  in  any  such  role.  I  had 
almost  given  him  up  as  dead.  More  out  of  curios¬ 
ity  than  any  belief  that  I  should  find  Henry,  I  went 
to  the  meeting  last  night,  and  you  know  the  sad  re¬ 
sult.” 

Mrs.  Toplass  was  very  much  agitated  during 
this  recital.  It  was  plain  that  hen  experience  of  the 
previous  night  would  harass  her  for  many  days  to 
come.  A  certain  hesitancy  in  her  utterance  at  times 
convinced  me  also  that  she  was  not  fully  satisfied 
at  heart  that  Captain  Shiers  was  the  man  he  pre¬ 
tended  to  be.  But  I  thought  it  impolitic  to  pursue 
that  point  at  present;  I  wanted  to  see  the  Salvation¬ 
ist  and  gauge  his  character  before  venturing  further 
on  so  delicate  a  topic. 

After  a  pause  Mrs.  Toplass  timidly  asked  how 
her  identity  had  been  discovered. 

“The  city  editor  was  struck  by  the  resemblance 
between  Captain  Shiers  and  Mr.  Toplass,”  I  replied. 

“Did  he  express  any  decided  view  about  it?’’ 
she  asked  anxiously. 


24 


THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 


“Yes.  He  said  were  it  not  for  the  Yorkshire 
accent  of  the  man  he  could  almost  swear  that  Cap^ 
tain  Shiers  and  Mr.  Toplass  were  one  and  the  same 
person.” 

“Yes,  the  accent  is  strange  and  bewildering,”  she 
said  musingly;  “it  is  hardly  possible  that  it  could 
be  assumed  for  the  purpose  of  deception.  Henry’s 
voice  was  pleasant  and  refined,  while  this  man  is 
course  and  rather  vulgar.  But  (recovering  herself 
with  a  start)  what  am  I  thinking  about?  It  is  only 
a  remarkable  facial  resemblance — that  is  all.” 

Something  in  her  manner  prompted  me  to  ask 
whether  any  domestic  difficulty  preceded  the  dis-, 
appearance  of  Mr.  Toplass. 

“No,  sir,”  was  the  somewhat  sharp  response,  as 
a  slight  flush  rose  in  her  cheeks;  “our  domestic  life 
was  calm  and  serene.  Mr.  Toplass  was  all  any 
woman  could  wish  as  a  husband  and  father;  he 
loved  his  home  and  his  children,  and  his  sole 
thoughts  were  for  our  happiness.  Ah!  me!  But 
why  prolong  this  inquiry,  sir;  it  is  very  painful 
to  me.  I  am  very  sorry  I  went  to  that  meeting, 
since  it  has  reopened  the  wound  of  my  great  sorrow, 
and  may  cause  annoyance  to  a  worthy  mam” 


THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 


25 


As  I  rose  to  take  my  leave,  Mrs.  Toplass  again 
entreated  me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  let  the  mat¬ 
ter  drop. 

“You  are  the  only  reporter  I  have  talked  with  on 
this  subject  for  several  years,”  she  said,  “you  are 
the  only  person  who  has  identified  me  as  the  woman 
who  caused  the  scene.  Pray  be  merciful  and  do 
not  use  this  advantage.  Promise  me  not  to  print 
anything  else  about  it.” 

“I  must  report  to  the  office,”  I  replied,  “Wheth¬ 
er  anything  else  is  published  or  not  will  depend 
very  much  on  what  Captain  Shiers  has  to  say.” 

“Then  you  are  going  to  see  him,”  she  cried  in  a 
tone  of  alarm. 

“Yes,  my  instructions  are  to  interview  him.” 

“Dear,  dear,  this  is  dreadful.” 

Mrs.  Toplass  wrung  her  hands  so  pitifully  and 
looked  so  woe-begone  that  I  assured  her  nothing 
should  be  published  that  would  give  her  pain.  « 

“Captain  Shiers  will  doubtless  regard  the  matter 
as  an  odd  case  of  mistaken  identity,”  I  said,  “and 
repeat  that  he  knows  nothing  of  the  lady  who 
caused  the  excitement.  Then,  if  you  will  promise 
me  one  thing,  in  giving  his  explanation  I  will  take 


26 


THE  REPORTER  AT  WORK. 


care  that  neither  your  name  nor  that  of  your  hus-> 
band  is  mentioned  in  the  report.” 

“What  must  I  promise?”  she  eagerly  asked. 

“To  see  no  other  reporter  until  you  hear  from 

me. 

“I  will  gladly  pledge  myself  to  that,”  she  re¬ 
sponded  with  a  faint  smile.  “To  avoid  other  inter¬ 
viewers  I  will  visit  relatives  on  the  west  side  for  a 
few  days.” 

“A  very  good  plan.  Perhaps  you  will  not  have 
any  other  callers,  but  to  avoid  accidents  I  would 
advise  you  to  instruct  your  servants  to  tell  all  in¬ 
quirers  that  you  have  gone  out  of  town,” 

Mrs.  Toplass  agreed  to  this,  and  gave  me  the 
address  of  her  relatives  so  that  I  might  inform  her 
personally  of  the  result  of  my  interview  with  the 
salvation  captain. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  SALVATION  SISTER. 

In  making  this  arrangement  with  Mrs.  Toplass 
I  had  two  objects  in  view.  I  wanted,  first,  to  get 
her  beyond  the  reach  of  other  newspaper  men  who 
might  scent  a  sensation  in  the  occurrence  of  the 
previous  night,  and  second,  I  wished  to  establish 
friendly  relations  with  the  unfortunate  lady  whose 
distress  not  only  aroused  my  sympathy,  but 
strengthened  the  impression  that  in  Captain  Shiers, 
the  enthusiastic  Salvationist,  she  had  really  recog¬ 
nized  her  missing  husband..  Everything  seemed  to 
be  working  in  the  direction  of  a  first  class  “scoop,” 
and,  while  I  was  naturally  elated  over  the  outlook, 
I  wished  to  guard  myself  from  being  surprised  or 
forestalled  by  a  professional  rival.  All  reporters 
will  appreciate  my  position.  A  “scoop”of  this  im 
portance  would  be  a  big-feather  in  my  cap,  even 
if  it  did  not  lead  to  a  pleasant  interview  with  the 
cashier. 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  Captain  Shiers’ 
quarters.  He  and  his  wife  “kept  house”  in  three 


28 


A  SALVATION  SISTER. 


rooms  over  a  grocery  store  on  South  Halsted  street. 
The  rooms  were  scantily  furnished,  but  there  was 
an  air  of  cleanliness  about  them  which  was  refresh¬ 
ingly  wholesome  in  that  neighborhood.  It  was 
Mrs.  Shiers  who  answered  my  knock  and  invited 
me  into  the  small  sitting-room.  Woman-like  she 
apologized  for  the  meagreness  of  the  apartment, 
but,  as  she  dusted  a  creaking  chair  for  my  accom¬ 
modation,  she  added  with  cheerful  resignation: 

“If  we  are  not  rich  in  this  world’s  goods,  sir,  yet 
vje  find  the  Lord’s  work  is  pleasant  and  profitable 
under  all  conditions  and  circumstances.  -  One  can 
be  happy  in  a  garret  if  His  divine  love  sustains  us.’’ 

Mrs.  Shiers  was  a  pleasant-featured  little  woman, 
with  rich  auburn  hair,  and  large  hopeful  blue  eyes. 
In  repose  her  face  showed  some  traces  of  care,  but 
when  she  spoke  it  was  radiant  with  peace  and  con¬ 
tent.  Her  words  were  well  chosen  and  the  sentences 
clear-cut  and  refined.  There  was  no  suggestion 
of  cant  in  her  conversation;  an  earnest,  soulful 
piety  seemed  to  pervade  her,  and  one  forgot  as  he 
looked  in  her  bright  peaceful  face  and  listened  to 
her  soft  cheerful  voice,  that  she  played  the 
tambourine  in  street  parades,  and  sonletimes 


A  SALVATION  SISTER. 


2g 


shrieked  wildly  in  exhortation  during  the  excitement 
of  a  semi-barbaric  service. 

Mrs.  Shiers  divined  my  mission  when  I  told  her 
I  was  a  reporter  and  wished  an  interview  with  her 
husband. 

“Yes,  I  understand,”  she  remarked  quietly,  “you 
want  to  see  him  about  the  affair  of  last  night.  John 
and  I  talked  the  matter  over;  we  are  very  sorry  for 
the  poor  lady,  who  seemed  so  grieved  and  dis¬ 
tressed.  Do  you  know  who  she  is?” 

“Yes,”  I  answered,  looking  steadily  in  her  face, 
“she  is  a  wealthy  lady  whose  husband  disappeared 
in  a  strange  manner  about  five  years  ago.  She  was 
told  of  the  remarkable  resemblance  Captain  Shiers 
bore  to  him,  and  went  to  the  meeting  last  night  out 
of  curosity  and  was  carried  away  by  her  feelings.” 

“How  sad,”  exclaimed  the  little  woman  in  atone 
of  deep  sympathy,  “and  she  really  thought  Captain 
Shiers  was  the  missing  one.  Ah  1  I  can  enter  into 
her  feelings;  there  is  no  desolation  like  unto  that  of  a 
deserted  wife,  no  misery  so  acute  as  that  of  a  sor¬ 
rowing  woman  listening  for  a  familiar  footstep, 
longing  for  the  ‘touch  of  a  vanished  hand  and  the 
sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still.’  Poor,  stricken  thing. 
I  do  hope  she  has  found  comfort  in  the  Savior,  that 


A  SALVATIOJj  SISTER. 


she  has  thrown  the  burden  of  her  grief  at  His  feet 
and  secured  that  peace  and  consolation  which  the 
world  cannot  give,  but  which  is  the  sweet  portion  of 
those  who  trust  in  the  Lord  during  sunshine  and 
storm.” 

A  rapt,  reverential  look  came  over  Mrs.  Shiers’ 
face;  she  lifted  her  eyes  heavenward  as  she  spoke, 
and  the  tender  tones  of  her  voice  came  straight 
from  the  well-spring  of  a  devout  and  loving  heart. 
All  thoughts  of  interrogating  this  woman,  who  was 
evidently  well  and  deeply  learned  in  the  mysteries 
of  human  sorrow,  left  my  mind.  She  said  her 
husband  would  be  home  presently,  and  while  wait¬ 
ing  for  him,  as  I  refrained  from  further  mention  of  my 
business,  we  drifted  into  a  conversation  on  the  aims 
and  methods  of  the  Salvation  Army. 

As  might  be  expected,  Mrs.  Shiers  was  an 
enthusiast  on  this  subject.  “The  army,”  she  said,  “was 
not  organized  to  supplant  existing  forms  of  devo¬ 
tion:  it  was  not  expected  that  its  barracks  would 
take  the  place  of  the  churches  of  any  denomination, 
but  it  was  intended  to  reach  a  class  of  people  whom 
the  churches,  with  their  formal  ritual,  prosperous 
ministers  and  well-dressed  pewholders,  did  not 
attract.  The  blare  of  trumpets,  the  thunder  of 


A  SALVATION  SISTER. 


31 


drums,  and  the  jingle  and  rattle  of  tambourines 
were  necessary  to  awaken  the  dull  sensibility  of  the 
lower  strata  of  society;  the  red-striped  uniform, 
the  military  caps,  the  martial  air  of  the  commanders, 
and  disciplined  obedience  of  the  rank  and  file, 
filled  the  common  ideal  of  the  army  of  the  Lord  and 
largely  aided  the  assaults  on  the  strongholds  of  sin. 
In  crowded  quarters  where  the  conditions  of  life 
are  severe  and  the  temptations  to  carnal  indulgence 
strong,  the  beat  of  the  Salvation  drum  warned  sin¬ 
ners  of  thSir  mortal  peril  and  rallied  them  to  the 
Cross.  The  work  of  the  army  was  largely  mission¬ 
ary  in  its  nature;  it  carried  news  of  the  gospel  to 
places  where  ministers  seldom  penetrated,  and  coun¬ 
teracted  the  vice  and  misery  which  seem  inseparable 
from  foul  air,  vile  surroundings  and  squalid  pov¬ 
erty.” 

“There  are  such  districts  in  every  large  city,” 
said  Mrs.  Shiers,  “and  from  them  we  obtain  our 
most  valuable  recruits,  for  no  man  can  touch  the 
heart  of  the  weary,  oppressed,  struggling  poor  like 
one  who  has  experienced  the  hardships  of  their  lot 
and  knows  the  full  measure  of  their  trials  and  mis¬ 
fortunes.  Ah!  sir,  many  a.  noble  soul  is  groveling 
in  the  by-lanes  and  alleys  of  this  great  city  whom 


p 


A  salvation  sister. 


the  sound  of  the  drum  will  yet  awaken  to  a  burning 
consciousness  of  guilt,  and,  who,  saved  by  the 
glorious  grace  of  salvation,  will  in  turn  rescue  hun¬ 
dreds  of  his  fellows  from  the  grinding  bondage  of 
sin.  It  is  a  great  work,  sir,  the  saving  of  souls.” 

The  woman  grew  eloquent  as  she  dilated  on  this 
work.  There  was  no  mistaking  her  earnestness  or 
her  simple,  trustful  piety;  she  had  the  elements  of 
a  saint  in  her  composition,  and  undoubtedly  found 
the  mild  species  of  persecution  to  which  many  of 
the  Salvation  sisters  have  been  subjected  act  like 
balm  on  her  martyr-like  spirit.  I  hinted  that  it 
must  be  unpleasant  to  parade  the  streets  and 
hearken  to  the  scoffs  and  jeers  of  the  mob. 

“Unpleasant  1”  she  exclaimed  reprovingly;  “no, 
sir;  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  joys  of  my  heart  to 
know  that  I  am  doing  the  Master’s  work.  What  is 
the  laugh  or  scorn  of  the  world  to  me?  I  have 
known  what  it  is  to  sit  with  the  scornful,  and  I 
thank  God  sincerely  for  showing  me  the  sinfulness 
of  my  heart  and  washing  me  clean  in  the  blood  of 
the  Lamb.  The  jeers  and  ribalry  of  the  crowd 
only  make  me  more  determined  to  do  all  in  my 
power  to  defeat  the  machinations  of  the  devil  and 
liberate  souls  from  the  thraldom  of  sin.” 


A  SALVATION  SISTER.  33 

“How  long  have  you  been  an  active  member  of 
the  army?”  I  asked. 

“Only  four  years,”  she  responded  with  a  sigh, 
“I  count  every  day  prior  to  my  conversion  as  mis¬ 
spent  and  lost.  It  was  a  glad  day  when  John  came 
home  from  his  pilgrimage  a  changed  man.  We  had 
been  separated  a  long  time,  sir.  He  was  a  head¬ 
strong,  sinful  man  for  years  after  our  marriage,  but 

his  heart  was  all  right;  he  was  only  blinded  and 

% 

maddened  by  the  snares  and  pitfalls  of  the  evil  one. 
The  Salvation  Army  saved  his  soul,  sir.  It  kept 
him  from  drink,  it  softened  his  spirit,  it  moulded 
his  passionate  nature  into  tenderness  and  fired  his 
heart  to  work  for  Christ.  The  holy  peace  of  the 
last  few  years  has  repaid  me  a  hundredfold  for  the 
miseries  and  wretchedness  of  the  past.  I  praise 
God  every  hour  for  his  great  mercy  to  John  and 
myself;  had  I  a  thousand  lives  I  would  gladly  con¬ 
secrate  them  to  the  cause  which  has  wrought  such 
a  wonderous,  glorious  change  in  our  hearts.” 

It  did  one  good  to  listen  to  this  enthusiastic 

advocate  of  a  band  of  workers  whose  sole  worldly 

portion,  according  to  my  restricted  vision,  consisted 

in  jibes  and  jeers  and  vulgar  abuse.  The  past  to 

which  Mrs.  Shiers  so  pathetically  referred  to  must 
3G 


34 


A  SALVATION  SISTER. 


have  been  a  dismal  one,  since  it  was  hard  to  con¬ 
ceive  that  this  refined  and  sensitive  woman  could 
ally  herself  to  the  Salvationists  unless  the  condi¬ 
tions  of  her  life  had  been  uncommonly  dreary  and 
severe.  I  was  on  the  point  of  asking  about  the 
separation  of  herself  and  husband  when  a  heavy 
step  was  heard  on  the  creaking  stairs. 

“Here  comes  John,**  she  cried,  her  face  illumi¬ 
nated  with  smiles;  “he  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you 
and  give  you  his  version  of  that  unfortunate  occur¬ 
rence  at  the  meeting  last  night.’* 

The  door  opened  and  a  splendid  specimen  of 
physical  manhood  stepped  into  the  room,  saying,  in 
a  strong,  cheery  voice: 

“Iw’ve  browt  steak  for  supper,  lass.  Gieusakiss 
an*  git  it  riddy.  Iw’m  welly  clemmed,  and  we  maun 
be  stirrin*  early  to-neet.** 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  ARMY. 

Captain  Shiers  was  a  living  counterpart  of  the 
portrait  in  Mrs.  Toplass*  parlor.  He  had  the  same 
well-knit  form,  the  same  broad  intellectual  forehead, 
the  same  kindly,  steadfast  eyes,  the  same  expression 
of  geniality  and  good  humor.  True,  as  the  servant 
described,  the  hair  was  mixed  with  gray  and  thin¬ 
ning  around  the  temples,  and  there  were  slight 
wrinkles  on  the  brow  which  were  not  in  the  paint¬ 
ing,  but  those  finger  marks  of  time  did  not  affect 
the  striking  likeness,  and  I  was  not  surprised  that 
Mrs.  Toplass  had  been  moved  into  greeting  him  as 
her  husband. 

He  came  into  the  little  sitting-room  with  a  light, 
elastic  tread;  his  frank  face  was  wreathed  with 
pleasant  smiles,  and  the  blithe  and  cheery  tone  of 
his  deep  chest  voice  seemed  to  derive  additional 
charm  from  the  strong  Yorkshire  dialect.  He  caught 
sight  of  me  as  he  advanced  towards  his  wife  with 
the  beefsteak  wrapped  in  brown  paper. 

‘‘Excuse  me,  sir,”  he  said  with  homely  courtesy, 
“I  thowt  Lizzie  wor  aloan.  We  family  folk  hev  got 


$6  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  ARMY. 

to  luke  efter  th’  inner  mon  and  thou  munnat  maind 
th*  saight  of  a  bit  of  provender.” 

Mrs.  Shiers  took  the  parcel  from  his  hand  and 
said,  smilingly: 

“This  gentleman  is  from  one  of  the  newspapers, 
-John;  he  wants  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say  about 
what  happened  at  the  meeting  last  night.” 

“Ah!  that's  aril  reet,”  he  responded  in  the  same 
hearty  manner,  as  he  drew  up  a  chair  near  where  I 
sat;  “I  cannot  tell  him  mair  than  what  wor  printed; 
but  go  ahead  wi'  thy  questions,  lad.” 

“The  lady  who  interrupted  you,”  I  said,  “has  had 
a  very  sad  experience.  Captain.  When  she  cried 
out  in  the  meeting  she  was  firmly  convinced  you 
were  her  husband,  who  disappeared  several  years 
ago  and  concerning  whom  nothing  has  since  been 
learned.” 

“Poor  creetur!”  said  the  man  with  true  sympa* 
thy  in  his  voice,  “and  she  thowt  I  wor  her  mon. 
Mebbe  her  head  wor  a  little  turned.” 

“She  certainly  is  distracted  with  grief,  but  other¬ 
wise  she  is  perfectly  responsible.” 

“What  does  thou  meen?”  he  asked  quickly,  with 
a  puzzled  expression  on  his  face,  “thou  certainly 
doesn’t  think  I’ve  got  two  wives,  eh?” 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  ARMY. 


37 


“No,  certainly  not,  sir,”  I  hastened  to  respond, 
as  I  noticed  a  shadow  flash  across  Mrs.  Shiers’  brow; 
“certainly  not,  but  you  bear  such  a  striking  resem¬ 
blance  to  the  missing  man  that  I  thought  you  might 
probably  be  a  relative.” 

“What  wor  his  naame?” 

“Henry  Toplass;  he  was  a  commission  merchant 
of  Chicago.” 

“Toplass!”  he  exclaimed,  in  amazement.  “Why, 
that  wor  my  mother’s  maiden  naame,  but  we’ve  no 
relations  in  America,  and  I  doan’t  know  of  ony  in 
oor  family  who  lukes  laike  me.  It  bean’t  a  common 
naame,  neither;  there’s  nobbut  a  few  Toplasses  in 
Yorkshire,  and  we  can  traace  them  for  welly  a  hun¬ 
dred  years  back.” 

“Would  you  mind  giving  me  a  little  of  your 
family  history,  sir?”  I  asked. 

“Why,  no.  I’ve  no  objections  to  that,  lad,”  was 
the  ready  response,  “but  I  cannot  see  what  good 
it’ll  do.  My  naame’s  not  Toplass,  and  I  nivver  set 
foot  in  Chickargo  until  three  months  back,  when  I 
came  to  work  i’  th’  Lord’s  vineyard.” 

“But  the  name,  you  say,  belongs  to  your  moth¬ 
er’s  family,  and,  then,  this  strong  resemblance  which 
misleads  e¥  - 


38 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  ARMY. 


“Coom,  coom,”  said  the  Salvationist,  with  a 
slight  chuckle  and  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes! 
“doan’t  beat  abawt  th’  bush,  my  lad.  Oot  wi’  it, 
Thou  cam*  here  thinkin*  thou’d  faind  this  wooman*s 
husband;  noo  didn’t  thou?  Speeak  oot  laike  a 
mon!” 

“Well,  as  you  put  it  that  way,”  I  stammered, 
being  a  little  surprised  by  the  Captain’s  good  hum^ 
ored  bluntness,  “I  must  confess  the  situation  was  a 
strange  one,  but — ” 

“But,”  he  interrupted  in  the  same  bluff  fashion, 
“but  efter  seein’  and  talkin’  wi’  my  lass,  thou  didn’t 
think  I  could  be  so  treacherously  bad  as  to  deceave 
this  little  wooman,  cruelly  leave  th’  other  yane  to 
pine  her  life  awaay,  and  act  th’  pairt  of  a  lyin’  hyp¬ 
ocrite  in  th’  saight  of  my  Maaker.  Bean’t  that  it?” 

“John,”  said  his  wife,  before  I  could  frame  a 
reply,  “the  gentleman  has  said  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Don’t  be  foolish,  dear.” 

She  stepped  to  his  chair  and  stroked  the  man’s 
forehead  gently.  He  caught  her  hand  and  /lissed 
it,  and  from  the  look  they  exchanged — a  soft, 
warning  expression  on  her  part  and  a  responsive, 
assuring  glance  on  his — I  imagined  t  eCaptain 
\yas  not  always  sure  of  his  temper. 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  ARMY. 


39 


“Don’t  be  afeered,  lass,”  he  said  with  a  pleasant 
smile;  “th*  owd  Adam  is  deed  enuff  noo.  Thank 
God!  th’  daay  when  unjust  suspicion  and  fause  accu¬ 
sation  could  roose  me  is  lang  past.  I  nobbut  wanted 
this  lad  to  be  oot-spoken — to  show  me  reet  awaay 
what  wor  th’  wurst  he  thowt,  so  that  I  mowt  meet 
it  manful  laike  and  crush  ony  divil’s  invention  at 
burth.  Noo,  lad,  oot  wi’  it.’’ 

Thus  appealed  to,  I  told  the  man  frankly  that  I 
did  entertain  the  suspicion  before  meeting  him  that 
he  might  be  the  missing  merchant,  but  that  his 
honest,  manly  way  in  meeting  me  more  than  half¬ 
way  convinced  me  that  I  was  mistaken. 

“That’s  spokken  laike  a  mon,”  he  cried,  with 
bluff  heartiness;  “it’s  allers  best  to  be  honest  and 
abuve  boord.  Noo,  I  doan’t  maind  tellin’  thee  that 
I’m  sorely  tempted  at  taimes  to  resent  th’  treatment 
we  get  i’  this  coontry.  Folk  seeam  to  think,  becos 
our  waays  bean’t  loike  theirs,  that  we’re  actin’  a 
pairt — that  when  we  maerch  through  th’  streets  wi’ 
oor  drums  and  trumpets,  playing  and  singin’  God’s 
music  and  praaisin’  Him  in  th’  manner  we  think 
pleasin’  to  Him  and  helpful  to  His  holy  cause,  we 
do  it  for  a  low  kaind  o’  self-glorification.  But  I 
want  to  tell  thee,  lad,  that  ivvery  thing  we  do — oor 


40 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  ARMY. 


drum  beetin*  and  cries  of  ‘Hallelujah/  oor  streat 
prayers  and  calls  to  th’  wicked — coom  fram  hairts 
swellin,  wi’  luv  for  oor  fellow-bein’s  and  burstin’  wi’ 
a  desire  to  bring  them  aril  under  th’  saavin’  graace 
of  Jesus.  Mobs  may  hoot  and  jeer;  they  may  drive 
us  aboot  laike  felons;  they  may  pelt  us  wi’  mud  and 
jostle  us  inti  th’  gooters;  but  we  can  stand  aril  this 
and  mair;  we  can  endure  aril  manner  o’  scorn  and 
abuse  and  persecution  wi’  th’  prood  consciousness 
that  aril  we  do,  and  aril  we  suffer  is  for  the  saake  of 
lost  humanity,  for  whom  Christ  suffered  and  died 
on  th’  Cross.” 

There  was  something  grand  and  noble  in  the 
man’s  face  as  he  defended  the  conduct  of  his 
peculiar  sect.'  The  rough  eloquence  of  his  lan¬ 
guage  had  a  pleasing  cadence.  I  could  readily 
imagine,  from  his  homely  outburst,  how  powerfully 
Captain  Shiers  might  sway  his  fellows.  There  was 
an  emotional  quality  in  his  voice,  a  quaint  pathos 
in  his  dialect,  which  could  not  fail  to  stir  the  heart 
of  sympathetic  auditors. 

“Noo,”  he  continued,  “hevin*  set  oursels  reet  to 
start  wi’,  if  thou’rt  still  of  a  maind  to  hear  summat 
o’  my  laife  Iw’ll  accommodate  thee  wi’  pleasure. 
And  I  may  as  well  tell  thee  at  yance  it  winnat  help 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  ARMY. 


41 


thee  i’  th’  wairk  of  faindin’  th’  hoosband  o*  that 
poor  wooman.  It’s  a  groosoom  story — fooll  of  hairt- 
burnin’s  and  sinfulness,  runnin*  ower  wi’  blunders 
and  wickedness,  but,  thank  th*  Lord,  roonded  at 
last  wi’  graace  fram  heaven  and  smoothed  wi’  th’ 
gentle  hand  of  a  forgivin’  Savior.” 

“I  will  esteem  it  a  great  favor,  indeed.  Captain 
Shiers,”  I  said,  “to  listen  to  your  history.” 

“Aril  reet,  lad;  thou  shall  hev  it,”  said  the  Cap¬ 
tain,  “Lizzie,  my  lass,  thou'd  better  go  and  get 
sooper  riddy,  an’  keep  Bob  awaay  for  th’  present.” 

This  suggestion  was  accompanied  by  a  significant 
glance  at  his  wife,  who  at  once  arose  and  left  the 
room.  I  inferred  that  there  was  something  in  the 
coming  recital  which  he  did  not  want  Mrs.  Shiers 
to  hear.  The  Captain’s  next  remark  verified  my 
suspicion,  for  as  soon  as  the  door  closed  he  said:. 

“She’s  a  good  lass,  sir — ower  good  for  me — and 
there’s  soom  things  I  doan’t  laike  to  speeak  abawt 
afore  her.  I’ll  just  hev  a  bit  o’  ’bacca,  and  then  I’ll 
make  my  confession,  which’ll  be  an  honest  and 
oppen  yahe,  and,  I  trust,  will  be  good  for  my  souL” 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 

Filling  and  lighting  a  briar  root  pipe,  Captain 
Shiers  puffed  at  it  composedly  a  few  seconds,  a 
quiet,  thoughtful  look  overspreading  his  face  as  he 
felt  the  soothing  influence  of  the  weed. 

“There’s  nowt  laike  a  bit  o*  ’bacca  for  reflective 
purposes,”  he  began;  “soom  folks  saay  it  beant 
Christian  laike  to  smoak,  but  I  doan’t  agree  wi’ 
’em.  ’Bacca  mayn’t  be  good  for  soom  chaps  wi’ 
poor  stomachs  and  weak  yeds,  but  it’s  a  raar  solace 
for  those  wi’  active  mainds  and  broad  showlders — 
men  who  hev  to  bustle  through  laife  and  hev  few 
comforts  to  console  them  efter  a  haard  day’s  wark. 
There’s  nowt  said  i’  th’  Baible  abawt  smoakin’,  and 
when  the  Holy  Writ  is  silent  on  a  subject  so  closely 
concerning  mankind  I’m  content  to  follow  coostum 
and  enjoy  my  paipe.  ’Bacca  doan’t  craaze  a  man 
loike  drink;  it  don’t  mak’  him  starve  his  wife  and 
beat  his  childer;  it  doan’t  fill  prisons  and  pest 
houses;  it  doan’t  mak’  froot  for  the  gailows  tree. 
''  giental  disinfectant  and  a  good  kaind  frind  to 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK.  43 

tired  folk;  and  I’m  goin’  to  stick  to  my  paipe  so 
lang  as  it  doan’t  interfere  wi’  my  duty  while  yeildin’ 
me  bodily  coomfort.  Besides,  Lizzie  laikes  to  see 
me  smoak;  its  so  home-laike,  she  says.  I  tell  thee 
this,  lad,  so  thou  may  knoaw  hoo  I  stand  on  th’ 
’bacca  question.” 

“We’re  in  accord  on  that  subject,”  I  remarked, 
taking  a  cigar  from  my  vest  pocket,  “  and  if  you 
have  no  objections  I’ll  take  a  few  whiffs  myself.” 

“That’s  reet,  lad,”  was  his  hearty  response;  “mak’ 
thysen  at  whoam.” 

He  puffed  away  in  silence  a  while,  as  though 
meditating  how  to  begin  his  story.  Then,  slowly 
emitting  an  unusually  large  cloud  of  blue,  curling 
smoke,  he  said: 

“Noo,  my  lad,  in  what  I’ve  got  to  say  thou’ll 
faind  soom  strange  and  sad  things  which’ll  go  to 
show  that  I’ve  bin  a  bad  mon,  unworthy  of  th* 
graate  blessin’  which  has  fallen  on  me  since  I  wor 
saaved.  Soom  folks  doan’t  loike  to  speeak  abawt 
their  sins,  but  it’s  allers  best  to  mak’  a  clean  brist 
of  ivverything,  especially  when  yan  is  in  a  religious 
callin’;  for  its  woonderful  hoo  gratified  men  are  to 
faind  that  other  folk  hev  bin  warse  than  themsens 
and  still  hev  bin  purified  by  Divine  graace.  I’m 


44 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 


not  much  of  a  philosopher,  but  I  think  I*m  reet  in 
saying  that  ivvery  mon  has  his  oan  .roole  of  conduct 
and  conscience  by  which  he  not  oanly  maps  oot  his 
oan  laife  but  measures  that  of  others.  Finnicky 
people  doan't  laike  to  listen  to  th’  rough  tales  o* 
reformed  men,  becos  they  cannot  enter  into  their 
trials  and  feelin’s;  but  sprid  afoar  men  hoo’vebin  on 
th*  grindstane  of  bitter  experience,  thoase  tales  hev 
a  woonderful  evangelizing  result;  they  speak  straight 
whoam  to  th*  hairt  and  bring  scores  under  the  peace¬ 
ful  inflooence  of  th’  Gospel  of  Trooth. 

*‘Noo,  my  roole  of  laife  wor  selfishness.  I  thowt 
of  neebody’s  coomfort  but  my  oan.  If  I  thowt  a 
glass  o*  yale  wud  gie  me  pleasure,  I  tuk  it,  and 
didn’t  maind  hoose  hairt  wor  wrung  when  I  got  th’ 
drunken  staggers  and  cussed  and  swoar  till  I  wor 
black  i’  th’  face.  I  wor  yedstrong  when  I  wor  a 
babby,  and  I  got  warse  and  warse  as  I  grew  owder 
and  owt  to  hev  known  better.  It’s  such  a  poower 
of  satisfaction  to  hev  yan’s  oan  waay,  and  I  wad  hev 
maine  in  spite  of  ivverything  and  ivverybody;  and 
I  got  it,  and  sairly  I  soofered  fram  it  when  I  grew 
to  manhood  and  tuk  upon  masen  th’  graave  respon¬ 
sibilities  of  wedded  laife. 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 


45 


“But  I’m  gettin’  a-yed  o’  my  story.  I  wor  born 
near  Whitby  in  Yorkshire,  just  forty-two  years  sin. 
You  mebbe  hev  heard  o’  Whitby.  It’s  a  taidy  sea¬ 
port  on  th’  coast,  wi’  a  comical-lookin’  quay,  narrow, 
cobble-stane  streats,  and  fishy-smellin’  hooses,  th’ 
moss-covered  ruins  of  a  faamous  owd  abbey,  a  puffy 
owd  bellman  hoo  cries  doon  scowldin’  wives,  adver¬ 
tises  auction  saales,  and  lots  of  other  curus  things 
in  brick  and  mortar  and  human  flesh.  It’s  there 
where  they  get  jet  for  brooches  and  other  fal-lals, 
and  where  they  find  those  petrified  fossils  and  shell¬ 
fish  which  tell  th’  wiseacres  hoo  owd  th*  world  is, 
and  \^hat  a  poor  unsignificant  creetur  mon  is  efter 
aril’s  said  and  dune. 

“My  folks  wor  farmers  twelve  miles  oot  of 
Whitby.  They  wor  honest.  God-fearin’  people,  and 
as  I  wor  th’  oanly  son,  th’  owd  mon  wanted  to  mak* 
me  useful  wi’  th’  plow  and  harrow  and  dibble,  so 
that  in  good  -  taime  I  maight  tak  chaarge  o’  th’ 
plaace,  and  become  a  yeoman  o’  th’  soil.  But 
I  nivver  tuk  kaindly  to  th’  idee;  easterly  winds  used 
to  blaw  'sea  scud  ower  oor  fields,  and  we  cud  hear 
th’  dull  roar  o’  th’  waaves  dashin  agin  th’  High  cliffs 
o’  Whitby,  and  soomhoo  or  other  I  got  th’  sea  faiver, 
and  nowt  would  content  me  but  a  birth  in  a  Baltic 


46 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 


trader.  Faather  tried  horsewhippin*,  layin’  on  heav¬ 
ily  wi’  th*  feear  o’  th’  Lord  in  his  hairt;  muther  tried 
prayin’  and  greetin’;  but  it  wor  all  to  no  purpose, 
for  I  ran  awaay  to  Hartpond  in  Doorham  when  I 
wor  a  shaaver  of  fowerteen,  and  shipped  as  cabin 
boy  in  th’  Rising  Sun,  a  fine  clipper-built  brig,  saaled 
by  Skipper  Johnson,  as  braight  and  cheery  a  mari¬ 
ner  as  iver  trod  th’  deck  of  a  North  Country  collier. 

“I’ll  never  forget  my  fust  and  last  voyage;  it 
knocked  aril  th’.  romance  of  capstan  sangs  and  fo* 
castle  yarns  oot  o’  my  hairt  and  cured  me  forivver 
of  sea-farin’  desires.  Lang  afore  we  reached 
Dantzic  on  th’  outward  trip  I  wor  sick  of  a  sailor’s 
laife,  and  if  we’d  been  in  an  English  port  when  we 
cast  anchor  there,  I  should  hev  thrown  overboord 
what  little  pluck  I’d  left,  slipped  my  moorin’s,  and 
hoisted  saal  for  whoam  wi’oot  askin’  or  waitin’  for 
clearance  paapers.  But  I  had  to  grin  and  bear  th’ 
haardships  of  a  cabin  boy’s  lot  in  a  forrin’  port,  and 
faace  th’  unknown  miseries  o’  th’  passage  back  wi’ 
as  stoot  a  hairt  as  I  could  muster. 

“We  maad  faine  weather  for  three  days  efter 
leaving  Dantzic  and  aril  hands  wor  gay  wi’  th’  thowts 
of  a  quick  run.  Th’  skipper  wor  in  raar  good 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 


47 


spirits,  and  he  kept  jokin’  th*  mate  abawt  his  sweet- 
hairt,  for  he’d  buxom  Nancy  Meredith’s  picture  hung 
up  near  his  berth  in  th’  cabin. 

“Thou  woan’t  need  to  be  smirkin’  at  her  picture 
much  langer’.  Captain  Johnson  would  say  with  a 
hairty  laugh.  ‘We’ll  be  in  Hartpond  Bay  in  fower 
daays  mair,  and  Nancy’ll  be  around  thy  neck  afoar 
we’re  moored  to  th’  quay.’ 

“And  Jack  Nelson,  th’  maate,  would  purse  oop 
his  lips  to  stop  th’  bowndin’  joy  of  his  hairt,  and 
blithely  whistle  ‘Sweethairts  and  Waives.’ 

“That’s  reet,  my  braave  lad.  Captain  Johnson 
would  say,  wi’  a  queer  twinkle  in  his  small  gray  eyes, 
dinnat  fash  thysen  abawt  speakin’;  thy  couldn’t  do 
mair  wi’  a  foghorn  to  thy  lips.  Stick  to  “Sweethearts 
and  Waives;”  my  lad;  they’re  all  th’  joy  and  coom- 
fort  Jack  hes  afloat  or  ashore.’ 

“And  then  th’  skipper  would  daive  doon  th* 
companionway,  pull  th’  picture  of  his  wife  fram  th’ 
locker  of  his  chest  and  kiss  it  tenderly.  I’ve  seen 
him  do  it  a  dozen  taimes  a  daay. 

“Well,  on  th’  fowerth  daay  oot  th’  sky  cam  black 
aril  at  yance,  and  th’  wind,  which’d  bin  blawin’ 
steadily  abeam,  dropped  wi’  a  weird  moan  into  th’ 
bosom  of  th’  ocean.  Th’  saales  flapped  clumsily 


48 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK.. 


against  th*  masts  wi*  an  uncanny  sound,  and  there 
was  a  stillness  and  heaviness  abawt  th*  air  which 
struck  every  yane  wi’  fear. 

‘‘  ‘Aril  hands  close  reef  topsails,”  shouted  th* 
skipper,  and  as  th*  men  scampered  oop  the  riggin*, 
he  said  to  th*  maate:  ‘We*re  in  for  a  stiff  nor’easter 
or  I’m  a  Dutchman.* 

“This  wor  terrible  news  to  me.  There  wor  no 
signs  of  a  gale  to  my  maind,  but  I  hed  full  faith  in 
Captain  Johnson’s  nautical  wisdom,  and  I’d  seen 
enuff  of  storms  on  th*  German  Ocean  to  knaw  what 

to  expect  from  a  nor*easter.  I  wor  in  a  fearful 
stew,  and  soom  minnits  efterwards  th*  skipper 
feawnd  me  on  my  knees  in  th’  cabin  prayin*  as  fast 
as  my  chatterin’  teeth  would  let  me. 

“  ‘Git  oop,  thou  lubber,’  he  said,  giving  me  a  cuff 
on  th*  lugs.  ‘This  bean’t  no  taime  for  prayin’!  Thy 
plaace  is  on  deck,  where  ivvery  sailor  owt  to  be 
just  noo.  Oop  fram  thy  knees  and  bear  a  hand 
aloft,  or  I’ll  gie  thee  a  taste  of  rope’s  end  thou’ll 
remember  aril  thy  born  daays.* 

“I  knew  what  a  rope’s  endin’  meant,  and  I  wor 
on  deck  in  a  jiffey,  summat  ashaamed  of  bein’  caught 
skulkin’.  But  there  wor  nowt  for  me  to  do.  Ivvery- 
thing  had  bin  maade  snu^  and  ship-shaape,  and  th* 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 


49 


crew  wor  gathered  round  th*  galley  spinnin’  yarns 
abawt  th’  perils  o’  th’  deap.  My  courage  cam  back 
as  I  listened  to  their  rollickin’  talk,  and  I  sune  lost 
aril  dread  o’  th’  cornin’  storm. 

“We  hadn’t  lang  to  waat  for’t.  A  low,  sullen 
boom  wor  heard  due  east;  th’  heaviness  in  th’  air 
wor  suddenly  relieved;  th’  sea,  which  for  an  hour 
hed  bin  black  and  almost  motionless,  wor  stirred 
into  long,  swellin’  rollers.  Then,  from  th’  thick, 
murky  sky  came  a  tremendous  crash  o’  thunder;  a 
fierce,  howlin’  blast  was  upon  us  like  a  flash;  th’ 
rain  pelted  down  in  big,  angry  drops,  and  th’  heavy 
rollin’  waves  turned  into  furious  breakers,  snarlin’ 
and  foamin'  at  th’  crests. 

“Eh!  but  it  wor  a  dreadful  saight!  Th’  brig 

rocked  and  groaned  in  awful  agony.  Noo,  she  d  be 

quiverin’  on  th’  top  of  a  huge  waave,  and  then  she’d 

be  strugglin’  in  th’  trough,  wi’  th’angry  sea  swashing 

ower  th’  decks  and  th’  blocks  and  tackle  rattlin’ 

laike  mischief.  We’d  aril  we  could  do  to  keep  from 

washin’  overbooard.  Captain  Johnson  wor  lashed 

to  th’  wheel,  dingin’  to  th’  spokes  laike  grim  deeth; 

but  th’  helm  wor  powerless  to  guide  us  amang  the 

big  blustering  waves,  which  knocked  th’  brig 

abawt  laike  a  cockle  shell  and  swept  th’  decks  wi* 
4G 


50 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 


a  savage,  hissing  swiss,  threatenin’  ivvery  minnit  to 
crush  us  in  their  ponderous  maws. 

“For  two  daays  we  wor  buffeted  abawt  at  th* 
maircy  o’  th’  gaale.  No  reckonin’  could  be  tune; 
nayther  th’  skipper  nor  th’  maate  could  tell  where 
we  wos.  At  last,  on  th’  mornin’  o’  th’  third  day, 
land  wor  spied  dead  ayed.  Th’  storm  had  summat 
abaated  and  th’  brig,  laike  a  spoiled  youngster,  wor 
answerin’  sullenly  to  th’  turns  o’  th’  wheel.  We  had 
a  little  canvas  on  th’  foremast;  th’  mizzen  had  gone 
by  th’  boaard  th’  day  befoar.  Th’  wind,  still  gusty 
and  fierce,  wor  apt  to  rip  this  saal  in  pieces  at  ony 
minnit,  but  it  held  oot;  and  in  about  half  an  hour 
we  maade  out  the  th’  yedland  of  Hartpond  Bay. 

‘Tt  wor  a  welcoom  discovery,  but  we  aril  knew 
th’  danger  of  that  treacherous  coast,  and  hope 
trimbled  fitfully  in  oor  brists  as,  wi’  gritted  teeth 
and  desperate  maind,  Captain  Johnson  tried  to 
steer  us  safely  through  th’  wild  churning  sea.  Th* 
brig  seemed  disposed  to  behave  hersen.  There  wor 
occasional  lulls  i’  th’  gaale,  which  quickened  oor 
pulses,  and  th’  waaves,  while  they  still  beat  us  stiff¬ 
ly  seemed  to  be  spending  their  force. 

“But  of  a  sudden  th’  tempest  raged  again  as 
furiously  as  ivver;  th’  Rising  Sun  became  onmanage- 
able,  and  black  despair  tuk  possession  of  oor  hairts. 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 


51 


We  wor  driven  nor’ard,  past  th’  lighthoose,  where 
we  wor  caught  in  an  eddyin’  swirl  of  waters  which 
sucked  us  neerer  th*  gloomy  ootlaine  o’  th*  towerin’ 
cliffs,  which,  we  could  see,  were  thronged  wi*  hun¬ 
dreds  of  folks  watchin*  and  pityin*  oor  distress. 

“  It’s  aril  oop,  my  braave  lads,”  cried  Captain 
Johnson  in  despair,  leavin’  th’  wheel  to  faind  tem¬ 
porary  safety  in  th’  foreriggin’;  we’re  on  th’  rocks, 
and  there’s  nobbut  a  rocket  line  betune  us  and 
deethi” 

“What  my  feelin’s  wor  at  this  moment  I  nivver 
could  descraibe.  My  nature  seemed  to  hev  bin 
chaanged  by  this  awful  crisis.  I  weren’t  frightened 
at  th’  prospect  of  deeth;  th’  thowt  of  bein’  dashed 
to  atoms  on  th’  ugly  black  rocks,  hoose  points 
frowned  fearfully  through  th’  froth  o’  th’  billows, 
didn’t  phaaze  me.  I  wor  wet  through  and  through, 
and  shiverin’  like  th*  ague.  But  I  didn’t  want  to 
dee.  A  kaind  of  dull  longin’  for  life  cam  over  me. 
From  th’  companionway,  where  I’d  lashed  mysen 
in  this  dire  extremity,  I  watched  wi’  a  queer  numb 
feelin’  th’  efforts  o’  th’  coastguardsmen  on  th’  cliffs 
above  to  send  us  a  rocket  line.  I  could  hear  the 
cries  of  pitying  wimmin  as  th’  angry  waaves  cam 
roarin’  and  swashin’  ower  th’  deck. 


52 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 


“By  this  time  we  wor  wedged  tightly  in  a  ridge 
between  two  darkling  rocks.  Th’  cliff  wor  nobbut 
two  cables  awaay.  Th’  big  waaves  dashed  agin  oor 
portsides  laike  batterin’  rams,  makin*  th’  starbooard 
beams  crunch  on  th’  sharp*  teeth  o’  th*  rocks.  It 
wor  nobbut  a  question  of  very  little  taime  ere  we’d 
be  dashed  to  pieces  i’  that  narrow  ridge,  and  then 
God  have  maircy  on  oor  souls.  I  thowt  of  my  poor 
mother  on  th’  fairm,  and  th’  dull  feelin’  in  my  hairt 
gave  waay  to  a  fierce,  intense  yearnin’  to  be  saved. 

“Line  after  line  fram  th’  cliffs  swept  past  us  to 
th’  north.  Once  there  wor  a  feeble  cheer  fram  th’ 
foremast,  where  th’  skipper  and  crew  were  lashed, 
when  a  line  came  athwart  th*  riggin*.  A  ringin’ 
cheer  went  oop  fram  th’  folks  ashore,  but  th’  glad 
hope  it  inspired  speedily  died  awaay;  the  line  wor 
lost  in  soom  onaccountable  manner,  and  in  another 
second  th*  mast  crashed  over  oor  starbooard  side, 
and  captain  and  crew  were  dashed  beneath  th’ 
waaves. 

“This  was  th’  supreme  moment  of  my  laife.  Th’ 
groan  that  followed  from  th’  cliff  chilled  me  to  th’ 
marrow.  Would  they  try  again?  I  thought  I 
maun  be  invisible  in  th’  companionway.  I  soofered 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK.  53 

ivvery  pang  possible  to  monkind  durin*  th*  next 
few  seconds. 

“But  there  wor  another  flash  from  the  cliff;  the 
whiz  o’  th’  rocket  maade  my  hairt  leap  into  my 
mooth.  Th’  line  cam  clear  across  th’  hull,  a’most 
to  my  very  feet.  With  a  joyous  cry  I  seized  it  and 
tugged  on  it  for  dear  life. 

“A  shoot  o’  triumph  cam  fram  th’  cliffs  as  the 
coastguardsman  felt  th’  laine  tawten.  That  cry 
gave  me  new  strength.  I  pulled  wildly  on  th’  line 
until  the  hawser  cam  aboard.  I  fastened  it  as  best 
I  could.  Prisintly  th’  basket  cam,  but  I  didn’t  know 
hoo  to  v7ork  it. 

“Reason  was  oot  th’  question  at  that  critical 
time.  I  saw  oanly  yane  chance  to  saave  my  life. 
I  tied  th’  life-laine  roond  my  my  waist,  cut  awaay 
my  lashins  and  sprang  on  th’  hawser,  intendin’  to 
work  hand  ower  hand  to  th’  shore.  I  felt  a  sharp 
tug  and  knew  no  mair  till  I  woke  to  consciousness 
on  th’  moor  above  surrounded  by  weepin’  wimmen 
and  kaindly  men,  and  bruised  and  contused  in 
ivvery  part  of  my  fraame. 

“They  towd  me  efterwards  that  I’d  bin  dragged 
through  the  foamin’  surge,  across  th’  sharp,  jutting 


54 


A  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK. 


rocks,  and  oop  th*  side  o’  th’  high  and  jagged  cliff; 
and  that  it  wor  a  miracle  I  reached  th’  top  wi*  a 
vestige  of  laife  i’  my  body.” 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  CURSE  OF  RUM. 

The  narration  of  this  terrible  experience  affected 
Captain  Shiers  deeply.  His  eyes  filled  with  tears 
as  he  told  of  this  miraculous  escape  from  a  dreadful 
death,  and  he  took  two  or  three  turns  around  the 
room  before  recovering  his  composure.  Reseating 
himself  and  charging  his  pipe  again,  he  continued: 

“The  memory  of  that  awful  daay,  lad,  will  be  wi’ 
me  till  deeth.  It  wor  a  great  maircy  I  wor  spared 
to  ask  forgiveness  of  my  poor  mother,  and  it  owt  to 
hev  bin  a  lesson  to  me  for  th’  rest  o’  my  laife.  But 
it  wor  nowt  o’  th’  kind.  Of  coorse  I  wor  penitent 
for  a  time,  and  I  shed  bitter,  scaldin’,  remorseful 
tears  when  th’  owd  lady  cam  to  th’  hospital  and 
helped  to  nurse  back  my  strength.  Aril  she  could 
do  and  saay,  hooiver,  couldn’t  get  me  back  to  th’ 
fairm;  th’  shipwreck  hadn’t  crushed  my  wilful,  obsti¬ 
nate  spirit,  although  it  cured  me  o’  th’  hankerin, 
for  a  seafarin’  laife.  I  wor  determined  to  learn  a 
trade,  and  mother  had  fain  to  leave  me  wi’  Grand- 
faather  Toplass,  hoo  kept  a  ship  chandler’s  shop  in 


56 


THE  CURSE  OF  RUM. 


Hartpond.  Th*  owd  chap  said  he’d  apprentice  me 
to  a  watchmakker  and  put  me  i’  th’  waay  of  earnin’ 
my  livin’  by  th’  taime  I  maun  straike  out  for  mysen. 
Hoo  mony  times  I  regretted  my  stubburnness  and 
wished  I  had  gone  back  whoam  to  smoothe  th’  last 
hours  of  th’  owd  folks!  But  it  weren’t  to  be.  Sum- 
mot  drives  us  forard  in  oor  good  and  evil  courses, 
roundin’  oor  life  accordin’  to  th’  fate  shaped  oot  for 
us  by  th’  Almighty.  Lang  befoar  my  time  wor 
oot,  both  faather  and  muther  wor  called  to  their 
last  restin’  place.  Th’  farm  wor  sowd  and  proceeds 
put  in  trust  for  me,  and  I  cam  to  luke  upon  Hart- 
pond  as  my  whoam,  and  to  rely  on  Grandfaather 
Toplassfor  th’  little  counsel  and  direction  I’d  tak  as 
to  my  future. 

“Grandfaather  wor  a  character,  and  my  morals 
didn’t  prosper  under  his  care.  He  wor  one  o’  th’ 
owd  stamp  of  Yorkshire  bits,  shrewd  and  shaarp  in 
tradin’,  but  ower  fond  o’  th’  public  hoose,  where  I 
used  to  go  wi’  him  quite  often  and  lamed  to  tak’  a 
nip  wi’  th’  best  of  ’em.  Hartpond  wor  a  great  place 
for  tipplin’;  gin  and  brandy  wor  luked  on  as  cure- 
alls,  and  a  pint  of  steamin’  mulled  yale,  wi’  yor  feet 
in  het  watter  and  a  blanket  round  yor  yed,  wor  a 
prime  receipt  for  inflooenza.  There  wor  nobbut 


THE  CURSE  OF  RUM. 


57 


yan  real  oot-and-oot  teetotaler  V  th^  toon;  he  wor 
an  alderman  by  natural  selection  and  a  joiner  by 
trade — a  great  mon  at  penny-readin’s  and  lectures. 
His  name  wor  Bridges,  and  the  publicans  said  his 
cognomen  explaaned  ivverything,  as  wi'oot  watter 
bridges  wad  be  no  use. 

“Owd  Tommy  Toplass,  as  grandfaather  wor 
called,  could  stand  a  power  o*  lush;  but  yance  a 
moonth,  just  at  change  o’  th’  moon,  it  got  away  wi’ 
his  yed,  and  he’d  maerch  nine  times  round  Billy 
Purvis’  gravestone  in  th’  owd  churchyaard,  and  then 
preambulate  up  and  doon  th’  High  Street  yellin' 
like  mad.  Nobody  tuk  ony  notice  of  his  antics; 
they  said  he’d  got  a  knock  on  th’  yed  durin’  a 
smugglin’  expedition  when  he  wor  young,  and  was 
to  be  pitied,  poor  mon,  when  th’  fits  cam  on. 

‘‘Noo,  wi’  such  a  jockey,  it  weren’t  to  be  expected 
that  my  trainin’  wad  be  uncommon  good.  I  got  to 
be  real  fond  of  toddy,  and  got  fuddled  at  ivvery 
holiday.  Then,  to  make  things  worse,  I  joined  th* 
Rifle  Band,  which  practiced  in  th’  club  room  of  a 
public,  and  we  hed  lots  of  taime  for  yale  atween 
pieces,  which  th’  bandmaister,  who  was  fond  of  a 
jorum  hissen,  tuk  pains  should  be  short  and  trotty 
like  a  donkey’s  gallop. 


58 


THE  CURSE  OF  RUM. 


“But  I  maun  skip  ower  thoase  times  when  I  wor 
sowin’  tares  for  a  sorry  reapin’.  In  due  time  I 
coorted  and  married.  Thou  has  seen  my  lass,  and 
knows  that  I  got  a  good  wife.  She  owt  to  hev 
wrought  a  chaange  in  ony  mon,  but  her  love  and 
gentleness  made  no  difference  in  me.  I  wor  quick 
and  smart  in  my  trade,  and  made  good  money  in  a 
little  shop;  but  in  ivverythaing  else  I  wor  a  fule  and 
a  broote,  spendin’  my  neets  at  th’  White  Hart  and 
goin’  whoam  wi’  oaths  on  my  lips  and  a  mad  wish  to 
do  soom  desperate  deed.  Lizzie  tried  her  haardest 
to  wean  me  fram  drink.  She  nivver  uttered  a 
haarsh  word  or  a  reproach;  she  browt  coolin’ 
draughts  to  me  i’  th’  mornin’  and  coaxed  my  appe¬ 
tite  wi’  aril  kinds  o’  tidbits;  she  talked  to  me  gently 
and  showed  me  plaan  enuff  that  th’  gait  I  wor  goin’ 
wad  lead  me  to  ruin  and  deeth.  But  it  wor  no  use; 
I  knew  she  wor  reet,  and  that  I  wor  sinkin’  plumb 
doon  to  th’  gooter,  but  Owd  Nick  hed  me  tight  in 
his  clutches,  and  I  laughed  her  to  scorn.  Efter  Bob 
wor  born  I  did  sprooce  up  a  bit;  I  rushed  awaay 
when  th’  spells  cam  on  and  struggled  wi’  John 
Barleycorn  like  a  good  ’un.  But  John  hed  a  fast 
grip  on  me;  I  fell  time  and  agin,  despite  pledges 
and  promises,  and  befoar  Bob  wor  twelve  months 


THE  CURSE  OF  RUM.  59 

owd  I  wor  as  oad  as  ivver.  Lizzie  luked  for  conso¬ 
lation  i*  th’  church.  It  wor  raar  she  murmured 
abawt  th’  misery  of  her  lot’  but  th’  saight  o’  th’ 
Baible  and  prayer  buke  riled  me  like  fury,  and  I 
pitched  them  oot  o’ doors  scores  and  scores  o’  times. 

“Then  th’  neebors  began  to  talk.  They  wor  aril 
drinkin’  folks,  but  the  stuff  didn’t  tak  howd  o’  them 
as  it  tuk  howd  o’  me.  I  began  to  hev  ragin’  spells 
like  grandfaather;  I  wad  brood  ower  fancied  troubles 
for  daays,  and  then  my  mind  wad  boonce  wi’  excite¬ 
ment,  and  afterwards  I  wad  hev  queer  shivverin’ 
fits,  which  tuk  aril  my  strength  awaay,  and  doctor 
hed  to  gie  me  stuff  to  braace  my  system.  Th*  par¬ 
son  wad  coom  and  pray  wi’  me,  but  I  turned  cowd 
shoulder  to  his  advice;  and  by  and  by  I  wor  left  to 
my  oan  wicked  devices,  and  folks  said  I  maight  go 
my  oan  gait  to  th’  divvil. 

“And  sure  enuff  I  wor  on  th’  reet  road  to  him. 
Lizzie’s  face,  which  bloomed  like  a  rose  when  we 
wor  wed,  becam  peaked  and  yellow;  she  dropped 
awaay  to  a  shadow,  and  her  bonny  eyes,  which  used 
to  dance  wi’  honest  glee,  faded  into  a  dim  haunted 
gleam,  and  lines  of  sooferin’  furrowed  her  dimpled 
cheeks.  She  wor  pinin’  away,  but  I  couldn’t  see  it. 
As  lang  as  I  could  get  my  two-pennorth’s  o’  rum,  I 


Go 


THE  CURSE  OF  RUM. 


had  thowt  for  nowt  else.  Rum  wor  my  God;  it  sup-- 
planted  wife  and  babby  in  my  hairt;  I  varily  believe 
that  I’d  have  bartered  my  soul  for  a  noggin  o’  grog. 

‘^Things  wor  at  this  pass  when  an  owd  friend  o* 
my  wife’s  came  to  work  i’  th’  town.  He  was  a 
printer  to  traade,  a  soft-spokkin*  chap,  wi*  th’ 
smooth,  artful  ways  of  sooth  countrymen,  and  hed 
got  acquainted  wi’  Lizzie  when  she  wor  at  service 
somewhere  in  Middlesex.  Soom  said  he  wor  an 
owd  sweethairt,  and  when  they  saw  hoo  pleased 
Lizzie  wor  to  see  him,  they  even  said  they’d  been 
engaged  and  quarreled,  and  she’d  married  me  to 
spite  him.  I  paid  no  attention  to  such  gossip  at 
first;  but  when  Lizzie  began  to  twit  me  wi’  th’  stead¬ 
iness  of  Ned  Barton — that  wor  his  name — and  said, 
wi*  sighs  in  her  throat,  hoo  happy  we  could  be  if  I 
wor  like  him,  th’  devvil  got  into  my  hairt  and  I  be¬ 
came  as  suspicious  and  jealous  as  that  blackamore 
i’  th’  plaay  hoo  smothered  his  fair  and  virtuous 
young  bride. 

“Jealously,  my  lad,  is  a  sad  coompanion  for  a 
drinkin’  mon.  Lizzie  wor  as  pure  and  honest  as  th’ 
drivven  snow;  bad  as  I  wor,  she  wor  leal  and  true; 
nivver  a  wrong  thowt  entered  her  mind.  Low  and 
brootal  as  wor  my  waays,  she  loved  me  with  that 


THE  CORSE  OR  RUM. 


6i 


endurin’  love  which  is  pairt  o’  th*  soul  of  a  true 
wooman.  Fulelike,  hooiver,  I  couldn’t  see  it  then. 
I  magnified  innocent  actions  into  evil  deeds;  my 
rum-sodden  brain  was  afire  wi’  foul  thowts;  ivery 
fiber  o’  my  fraame  throbbed  wi’  black  and  murder¬ 
ous  jealousy. 

watched  for  signs  to  inflame  my  passion. 
Deeper  and  madder  I  plunged  in  debauchery,  and 
madder  and  deeper  grew  my  wild  and  furious 
thowts.  Th’  drink  began  to  hev  a  queer  effect  on 
me;  it  didn’t  make  me  bluster  and  stagger  as  for¬ 
merly.  I  wor  quieter  i’  my  coops,  and  after  my 
usual  ’lowance,  though  my  talk  wor  fairly  rational 
and  my  actions  natural  enuff,  I  wor  as  unconscious 
of  things  abawt  me  as  a  child  unborn.  People  used 
to  tell  me  of  straange  things  I  did  in  this  condition, 
and  when  I  said  I  didn’t  remember,  they’d  shrug 
their  showlders  and  say: 

“That  winnet  do  Jack;  thou  weren’t  full,  and 
we  don’t  want  thou  to  mak’  thysen  a  bigger  leear 
than  thou  art.” 

“Things  went  on  in  this  sad  way  for  soom  months, 
my  hairt  growin’  savager  towards  Lizzie  ivery  daay, 
and  buzzin’  thowts  of  vengeance  for  soom  imaginary 


62 


THE  CURSE  OF  RUM. 


wrong  crowdin’  themsens  in  my  maind.  One  morn- 
in’  efter  cornin’  fram  an  early  nip,  wi’oot  which  I 
couldn’t  bring  mysen  to  eat,  I  wor  astoonded  to  see 
Lizzie  wi’  a  black  eye. 

“  ‘What’s  happened  to  thee,  lass,  *  I  asked 
surlily. 

“She  burst  into  tears  and  said: 

“‘Eh!  John;  thou  knows.  It  has  coom  at  last. 
I  nivver  thowt  thou’d  raise  thy  hand  agin  me.  But 
it  weren’t  thy  fawt;  it  wor  th’  drink.’ 

“Noo,  as  sure  as  I’m  sittin’  here,  lad,  I  knew 
nowt  abawt  strikkin’  that  little  wooman;  and  I 
couldn’t  believe  then  that  I’d  dune  so.  I  thowt  she 
wor  deceivin’  me  for  soom  reason,  and  my  anger 
rose  and  I  cried  savagely: 

“  ‘Does  tha  mean  to  saay  that  I  struck  tha?’ 

“‘Yes,  John,’  she  said,  wi’  a  sad,  pitiful  strain  in 
her  voice,  ‘thou  felled  me  to  th’  yearth  efter  callin’ 
me  ivery  vile  name  under  th’  sun.’ 

“  ‘Thou’rt  a  dommed  leear,’  I  cried  mad  wi’  raage; 
I  may  be  fond  of  a  sup,  and  mayhap  sometimes  I  get 
full,  but  I  nivver  raised  ma  hand  to  thee.  That’s 
yan  o’  thy  tricks  to  excuse  thy  doin’s  wi’  that 
tramp,  Ned  Barton.* 


THE  CURSE  OF  RUM. 


63 


**  ‘John,  John,’  she  shrieked,  wi’  agony  plainly 
written  on  her  face;  ‘  doan’t  say  that  when  th’  art 
sober,  lad.  I’ve  been  a  true  and  dutiful  wife  to 
thee,  John.  Tell  me  thou  doan’t  mean  it.’ 

“  ‘Doan’t  mean  what?’  I  sneered. 

“‘What  thou  said  last  neet;  that— that  I  wor 
too  thick  wi’  Ned  Barton.’ 

“‘If  I  said  that  last  neet,  thou  brazen  huzzy,  I 
cried,  doublin’  ma  fist  and  shaakin’  it  in  her 
faace;  ‘  if  I  said  that  I  meant  it  and  mair  too.  Domm 
thou!  I’ve  had  enough  o’  thy  slobberin’,  sneakin’ 
waays;  thou’d  better  pack  thysen  off  wi’  that  smooth¬ 
faced,  oily-tongued  lover  afoar  I  do  him  some 
bodily  hairm.’ 

“She  dropped  into  a  chair  and  moaned  and 
turned  as  pale  as  deeth.  Th’  divvil  got  in  me  at  th’ 
saight  of  her  white  face  and  quiverin’  lips,  and  I 
stepped  up  to  her,  helpless  and  stricken  as  she  wor 
by  my  foul  chaarge,  and  struck  her  violently  on  th’ 
yed.  As  she  fell  senseless  to  th’  floor  little  Bob 
toddled  oop  and,  claspin’  my  knees  wi’  his  wee, 
chubby  hands,  cried: 

“  ‘Oh!  daddy,  daddy!  Doan’t  beat  mother.’ 


64 


THE  CURSE  OF  RUM. 


“I  pushed  him  roughly  awaay,  and  he  fell  sobbin* 

ower  the  prostrated  body  of  my  waife. 

‘‘In  another  moment  I  wor  on  my  way  to  th* 

White  Hart  to  fire  my  anger  wi’  mair  rum.** 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CAPTAIN  SKIERS  GOES  MAD. 

“What  happened  efter  I  went  in  to  th’  White 
Hart  tap-room  I  oanly  knaw  by  hearsay.  I  remim- 
ber  hevvin*  two-three  noggins  o’  rum,  but  iverything 
else  wor  a  blank  until  I  woak  next  mornin’  on  a 
cowd  stone  slab  in  th*  toon  jail.  My  tongue  wor 
thick  and  paarched,  my  limbs  weak  and  tottery, 
my  hands  dothered  laike  grass  on  th’  moor. 

“  ‘Well,’  I  muttered  to  niysen,  lukin’  roond  th* 
bare,  grim  cell  disconsolately,  ‘thy’s  browt  thy  eggs 
to  a  fine  mairket  at  last!  Domm  thysen  for  a  fule. 
Jack  Shiers!’ 

“Superintendent  o’  th*  Police  heard  me  movin’ 
aroond  and  cam  and  luked  through  the  graatin.’ 

“Hello!  Dawson!’  I  cried,  ^this  is  a  nice  trick  to 
play  on  a  man  hoo  allers  pays  his  raates  and  owes 
nebody  nowt.  Send  for  a  pint  o’  yale.  I’m  chokin,’ 

“He  turned  on  me  a  luke  I’ll  niwer  forget;  it 
wor  a  mixture  of  malignity  and  pityi  and  set  me 

shaakin’  warse  than  iwer. 

5G 


66 


CAPTAIN  SKIERS  GOES  MAD. 


“Chokin!’  Thou  greet  big  fule,’  he  cried,  in  a 
terrible  voice;  ‘chokin’!  Happen  thou’ll  choke  sune 
enuff.* 

“ ‘What  does  thou  mean?*  I  asked,  alarmed  by 
his  manner. 

“  ‘Mean!’  echoed  he.  ‘I  mean  that  thou’ll  swing 
sure  as  fate  if  he  dees.’ 

“ ‘Dees!’  exclaimed  I,  frightened  a’most  oot  o’ 
my  wits;  ‘if  hoo  dees?* 

“‘Thy  bairn,  thou  chuckle-yedded  broote,’  he 
answered  savagely;  ‘bonny  little  Bob,  hoom  thou 
stabbed  in  thy  drunken  fury,’ 

“  ‘Stabbed  my  Bob!’  I  cried  excitedly.  ‘Coom, 
Dawson,  noan  o’  thy  cussed  joakes  noo.  Doan’t 
saay  I  stabbed  Bob.’ 

“  ‘Luke  at  thy  sleeves,  thou  bloodthirsty  skoon- 
drel,’  he  exclaimed,  impatiently.  ‘Does  thou  think 
I’d  joak  ower  a  cowdblooded  murder?* 

“I  glanced  at  my  airms;  th’  coat  sleeves  v^or 
daubed  wi’  blood.  Wi’  a  frightened  yell  I  threw 
mysen  on  th*  stone  cot  and  tore  my  hair  in  a  frenzy 
of  remorse. 

“  ‘Ay!  thou  may  well  raave,’  cried  th’  officer,  ‘if 
we  hadn’t  nabbed  thou  in  time,  happen  thy  wife 


CAPTAIN  SHIERS  GOES  MAD.  67 

wad  hev  soofered  in  th’  saam  waay.  Get  oop,  th’ 
magistraates  are  waitin’  for  thee.* 

“He  unlocked  th’  door  o’  th’  cell  and  led  me  to 
th’  coort-room  upstairs.  Th’  plaace  wor  crooded 
wi’  toonfolk,  and  as  I  wor  put  i’  th’  dock  an  angry 
murmur  went  oop  which  th’  crier  tried  haird  to 
repress.  I  luked  abawt  me  in  a  dazed  fashion. 
There  wor  three  magistrates  on  th’  bench,  men 
hoom  I  knew  weel  and  had  taken  mony  a  drink  wi’; 
but  their  faaces  were  set  stern  agin  me  noo,  and  my 
limbs  trimbled  so  when  they  towd  me  to  stand  oop 
that  a  bobby  hed  to  support  me.  Th'  owd  white- 
yedded  toon  dark  read  a  chaarge  of  attempted 
murder  and  asked  if  I’d  owt  to  say  for  mysen. 

“I  wanted  to  tell  him  that  I  wor  innocent,  but 
my  tongue  stuck  to  th’  roof  o’  my  mooth  and  not  a 
word  could  I  utter. 

“  ‘Let  Officer  Hopkins  be  sworn,*  said  the  dark 
in  a  terrible  voice. 

“Hopkins  came  for’ard  and  kissed  the  buke.  He 
wor  an  owd  chum  o’  maine  and  I  thowt  surely  he’d 
faavor  me  wi’  a  mairciful  story.  But  I  wor  sadly 
mistakken.  He  began  to  swear  awaay  my  laife  as 
if  I  wor  th’  greatest  straanger  i’  th’ world.  ‘Your 
Honors’  said  he,  touching  his  forelock  politely,  ‘I 


68 


CAPTAIN  SKIERS  GOES  MAD. 


wor  on  my  beat  in  Northgate  at  elivin  o’clock  last 
neet,  when  I  heard  cries  o’  murder  cornin’  fram  th’ 
prisoner’s  hoose.  I  rushed  in  and  fawnd  prison¬ 
er’s  wife  howdin’  him  by  th’  airms  and  screamin'  like 
mad.  In  his  right  hand  wor  this  knaife,  which  I 
produce.' 

“Hopkins  gave  th'  dark  my  jack-knaife  and  I 
shivered  as  I  saw  big  splatches  of  blood  on  th’ 
blaade. 

“On  th’  bed  wor  prisoner’s  little  lad  wi'  a  graate 
gash  in  his  left  showlder,’  pleeceman  went  on.  'Hoo 
did  that?’  I  asked.  ‘John,’  said  prisoner’s  wife.  I 
handcuffed  him  and  took  him  to  th’  jail.’ 

“Did  th’  prisoner  mak’  ony  staatment?’  inquired 
the  dark. 

“  ‘No,  your  Honors,  he  wor  kaind  o*  stupefied 
when  th’  darbys  wor  put  on,  and  he  cam  quietly 
enuff.  I  didn’t  ask  him  onythin’,  knowin'  that  it 
wor  agin  th’  rools  o’  th’  service.* 

“ ‘Quite  reet,  my  man!’  said  th*  Mayor;  *stan(J 
doon,  and  call  Mrs.  Shiers.’ 

“Lizzie  wor  lead  to  th*  witness  box  in  a  fainth ' 
state.  Poor  lass,  it  wor  a  haird  trial  for  her — he? 
hoosband  i'  th’  dock  charged  wi’  attemptin’  to  mur¬ 
der  owr  oanly  bairn,  and  she  asked  to  gi’c  evidence 


CAPTAIN  SHIERS  GOES  MAD. 


69 


that  maight  send  him  to  th'  gallows.  Th*  coort- 
room  wor  as  still  as  th’  grave  when  she  began  to 
speeak.  Her  voice  wor  low  and  shrinkin’;  the  story 
hed  to  be  dragged  fram  her  piecemeal.  Ivery  noo 
and  then,  she’d  lake  at  me  wi’  brimmin’  eyes  and 
shaake  laike  dotherin’  grass.  Eh!  lad,  if  iver  mon 
on  ycarth  soofered  tortures  o*  th’  dommed,  I  did  as 
Lizzie’s  words  dropped  laike  het  coals  on  my 
quaakin’  hairt. 

“  ‘He  didn’t  mean  it,  your  worships,*  she  cried 
pitifully;  *it  wor  th’  drink  which  crazed  him.  He*S 
good  and  kaind  when  th’  liquor  is  out  of  him;  oh!  he 
didn’t  meean  it!* 

“  ‘Yes,  yes,  my  good  woman,’  said  th*  Mayor 
gently,  ‘but  what  induced  this  deadly  outbreak? 
Tell  us  hoo  it  happened.’ 

“  ‘Well,  sir,*  sobbed  Lizzie,  ‘John  hed  bin  drinkin’ 
aril  day  on  an  empty  stomach.  We  hed  a  few 
words  early  i’  th’  mornin,’  and  he  tuk  the  huff  and 
wadn’t  eat  his  breakfast.  He  cam  in  close  upon 
•  elivin  last  neet.  His  eyes  wor  stann’  wild,  and  he 
cried,  ‘I’ve  got  th*  villain  at  last;  bring  him  oot  or 
I’ll  brain  thou  and  kill  him  efterward.’  ‘Hoo  does 
thou  meean?’  1  asked.  ‘That  skoondrel,  Ned  Bar¬ 
ton/  he  shouted:  *he’s  in  there T  He  jumped  to 


70 


CAPTAIN  SKIERS  GOES  MAD. 


th*  bedroom  door,  and  before  I  could  stop  him  he 
oot  wi’  his  knife  and  struck  at  little  Bobby  wi’  it. 
Th’  blood  spouted  ower  th’  coonterpaan,  and  I 
caught  his  hands  and  screamed,  and — and — oh! 
that  is  aril  I  know.’ 

“She  fell  back  in  a  faintingfit.  It  aril  came  on  me 
laike  a  flash.  Fd  nursed  my  wrath  until  drunken  mad¬ 
ness  seized  me,  and  Fd  stabbed  my  oan  bairn,  think- 
in’  he  wor  Ned  Barton  foulin’  my  sheets. 

“The  coort-room  reeled  befoar  my  eyes;  a 
straange  buzzin’  noise  wor  in  my  ears;  I  clutched 
wildly  at  th’  air  and  fell  to  th’  floor  wi’  a  shriek. 

“When  I  cam  to  my  senses  I  wor  in  Sedgefield 
Asylum.  Th’  attendants  said  Fd  bin  there  eight 
years  a  raavin’  lunatic. 

“  ‘My  waife  and  babby,’  I  cried,  ‘  what’s  coom  o’ 
them?’ 

“  ‘They’re  in  Lancashire,’  said  yan.  ‘Bob  didn’t 
dee,  and  thou’s  nearly  cured.  Thank  God,  my  mon, 
and  let  drink  aloan  i’  th’  future.’ 

“In  a  few  weeks  they  let  me  oot.  Eight 
years  of  my  laife  had  gone  by  in  that  madhoose — 
eight  years  completely  blotted  oot  of  memory,  for 
iverything  wor  an  utter  blank  fram  th’  taime  I 
dropped  i’th’  prisoner’s  dock  till  th’  daay  they  towd 
me  I  wor  on  th’  road  to  mental  health  again.” 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LIFE  IN  LANCASHIRE. 

Tears  streamed  down  Captain  Shiers*  cheeks 
and,  seemingly  oblivious  of  my  presence,  he  fell  on 
his  knees  and  offered  up  a  fervent  prayer,  thanking 
God  for  restoring  his  reason  and  reuniting  him  to 
his  wife  and  child.  There  was  no  doubting  the 
man’s  devout  nature.  His  gratitude  sprang  from  a 
humble,  contrite  heart.  Whatever  he  had  been  in 
the  past — and  his  story  was  an  awful  revelation  of 
human  weakness  and  wickedness — it  was  plain  that 
his  spirit  had  undergone  a  wonderful  change  for  the 
better.  He  seemed  the  embodiment  of  a  trusting, 
faithful  servant  of  the  cross  as  he  knelt  praising 
God  for  his  infinite  mercy  to  a  penitent  sinner. 

“  That’s  my  story,  lad,”  he  said,  after  rising  from 
his  knees,  “and  thou  can  oonderstand  hoo  much  I 
hev  to  be  thankful  for  and  hoo  graate  is  the  debt  I 
hev  to  pay  to  th’  Lord.  My  punishment  wor  severe, 
but  I  deserved  it  aril.  It  tak’s  a  power  o’  scourgin’ 
to  break  soom  folks  in.  I  had  to  be  browt  to  th’ 
foot  o’  the  scaffold  befoar  my  stubborn  sinful  hairt 


72 


*  LIFE  IN  LANCASHIRE. 


wor  brokken.  That  shipwreck  wor  bad  enuff,  but 
it  wor  a  flea-bite  compared  to  th’  predicament  which 
rum  and  passion  put  me  in.” 

“  ‘How  did  you  come  to  join  the  Salvationists?” 

I  asked. 

“  ‘1*11  tell  thee.  Efter  leavin  th*  asylum  I  hunted  ^ 
oop  Lizzie.  She  left  Hartpond  becos  of  th*  painful 
associations,  and  went  to  Wigan,  where  she  wor 
maintainin'  hersen  and  Bob  by  dressmakin*.  Mony  a 
wooman  wad  hev  severed  aril  connection  wi’  me, 
but  she’s  yan  o*  thoase  hoo  stick  to  a  mon  till  deeth. 
Ivery  moonth  she  wrote  to  the  asylum  abawt  me; 
she’d  abidin*  faith  that  1  wad  coom  oot  aril  reet  and 
mend  my  waays.  I  woan’t  attempt  to  descriabe 
oor  meetin*  after  thoase  eight  weary,  dreary  years. 
On  my  knees  1  asked  her  forgiveness,  and  pledged 
mysen  to  keep  from  th*  cursed  drink.  Her  loanli- 
niss  and  soofferin*  Hed  browt  her  near  to  Christ; 
she  wor  a  Sunday-skule  teacher  and  a  member  o’ 
th*  Methodist  Church.  ‘John,*  said  she,  thou’ll 
nivver  stick  unless  God  Is  on  thy  saide;  ask  him  to 
bless  thy  endeavors*.  I’d  nivver  prayed  sin  I  wor 
a  babby,  but  I  began  noo.  It  seamed  laike  gropin’ 
i’  th*  dark  for  a  lang  while.  I  had  dull  spells  and 
doubtin’  spells,  and  th*  waay  often  luked  black  and 


LlfB  IN  LANCASHIKN. 


73 


gloomy.  But  1  persevered^  aiid  finally  th*  light 
broak  in  upon  me.  £h!  but  it  wor  a  blessed 
moment  when  I  felt  sin  drop  from  my  hairti  and 
th’  peace  and  joy  which  passeth  aril  understandin’ 
filled  my  soul. 

“Wigan  wor  a  ruff  and  wicked  plaace.  There’s 
thoosands  o’  pitmen  there  and  th’  drinkin’  and 
swearin’  and  fightin’  is  awful  on  pay  days.  Wommirt 
dress  themsens  in  troosers  and  work  i’  th’  pits  wi* 
th’  men,  and  they  go  drinkin’  wi*  them  on  Saturday 
neets.  No  pitman  is  happy  unless  he  has  either  a 
bloody  nose  or  a  brokken  yed  by  midnight.  Why, 
their  wives  leave  them  at  th’  publics  while  they  go 
marketin’,  and  just  abawt  cloasin’  time  th’  wommin 
luke  in  th’  tap-rooms  and  saay: 

‘Jack,  hes  thou  foughten  yet?’ 

“And  if  Jack  says  .‘naw/  they  cry  oot: 

“  ‘Then  get  foughten,  lad,  and  coom  whoam,^ 

“There’d  be  no  peace  wi’  lots  of  them  on  Sunday 
unless  Saturday  neet  finished  wi’  a  row.  Well,  th’ 
Salvation  Army  came  to  Wigan  efter  I  wof  saaved 
and  began  to  work  among  the  pitmen.  1  went  to 
yan  o*  th’  meetin’s  and  felt  mysen  drawn  on  th’ 
platform.  I  towd  the  story  o’  my  laife  in  language 
they  aril  knew.  Wommin  began  to  cry  and  men 


74 


LIFE  IN  LANCASHIRE. 


cam  forard  and  praayed.  I  saw  that  God  had  given 
me  a  work  to  do.  ‘Lizzie/  I  said  to  my  wife,  Fm 
mainded  to  go  wi’  the  airmy;  what  does  thou  saay? 
‘It’s  God’s  dooin’,  was  her  reply.  ‘I’ll  go  wi’  thee.* 
And  from  that  daay  to  this  we’ve  worked  together 
in  th’  holy  cause.  It  hesn’t  all  bin  smooth  and 
pleasant;  often  we’ve  bin  sair  pressed  for  victuals 
and  a  place  to  sleep,  and  half  a  dozen  times  we’ve 
bin  in  jail;  but  the  Lord  is  wi*  us  arlways*  and 
crackers  and  cheese  wi’  a  thankful  hairt  is  sweeter 
than  th*  stalled  ox  in  th*  tents  o’  th’  unrighteous. 

“Two  years  ago  they  asked  for  volunteers  for 
America,  and  Lizzie  and  Bob  and  mysen  cam  to 
help  carry  on  th’  good  work.  We  faind  it  a  little 
different  here.  People  laugh  at  oor  straange  tongue 
and  saay  wi  mak’  a  pantomine  o*  religion.  Oor 
waays  are  mebbe  not  orthodox,  but  oor  hairts  glow 
wi’  love  o*  the  gospel,  and  thoosands  hev  followed 
oor  drums  to  salvation.  That’s  aril  I  need  saay, 
lad.  I’ve  given  thou  my  history  fram  th’  cradle  to 
th’  presint  time,  and  if  thou  cam  here  thinkin’  I  wor 
masqueradin’  wi’  wicked,  hypocritical  desaigns,  thou 
maun  admit  noo,  like  a  mon,  that  thou’rt  mistakken.” 

I  assured  Captain  Shiers  that  this  account  of 
himself  was  perfectly  satisfactory  and  that  I  would 


LIFE  IN  LANCASHIRE.  75 

take  pleasure  in  refuting  any  statement  that  might 
in  any  way  refleci:  on  his  character. 

“That’s  spokken  fairly,  lad,”  he  cried  in  his 
honest,  hearty  fashion,  “and  I  thaank  thee.  Noo, 
thou’ll  stop  and  tak’  pot-luck  wi’  us;  sooper’s  just 
abawt  riddy.” 

“Pray  excuse  me.  Captain,”  I  said,  “I  must  be  at 
the  office  before  7  o’clock.” 

“Well,  thou’rt  welcome,  lad,  if  thou  hes  time. 
At  any  raate,  thou  maun  see  Bob.” 

He  went  to  the  sitting-room  door  and  shouted. 

“Coom  here.  Bob.” 

A  fine,  yellow-haired,  blue-eyed  lad  of  fourteen 
entered  the  room  in  response  to  the  call.  His  face 
had  a  happy  blending  of  his  father’s  frank  features 
and  his  mother’s  gentle  refinement.  His  left  arm 
hung  listlessly  at  his  side.  Captain  Shiers  observed 
me  looking  at  it  and  he  said  significantly: 

“Yes,  that’s  it;  but  Bob’s  aril  reet  otherwise. 
Shaake  hands  wi’  this  gentleman,  lad;  he’s  one  o’ 
thoase  chaps  that  write  for  th’  paapers.” 

The  boy  came  forward  and  extended  his  hand 
with  a  pleasant  smile  and,  with  a  voice  resembling 
his  mother’s,  said; 


76 


LIFE  IN  LANCASHIRE. 


“rm  very  glad  to  see  you*  sir.  I’ln  studying  hard 
to  become  a  writer  myself,  sir. 

“And  what  do  you  intend  to  write  about,  Bob?” 
asked  I. 

“About  poor  people  and  their  ways,  sir,” 

“That’s  reet,  my  lad,”  said  Captain  Shiers,  his 
face  beaming  with  fatherly  affection.  “Allers  try 
and  help  th’  poor;  th’  rich  can  tak’  care  o’  them- 
sens.” 

As  I  took  my  hat  to  leave  the  Salvationist  re¬ 
marked: 

**I’m  worried  abawt  that  poor  wooman,  lad.  I 
hope  she’ll  faind  her  hoosband,  and  that  th’  Lord 
will  sustain  her  soul  to  bear  meekly  her  great 
afBiction. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  REPORTER  WRITES  AN  ARTICEB. 

“How  did  you  make  out,  James?'*  asked  the  city 
editor  when  I  returned  to  the  office.  ‘*Is  it  a  scnsa- 
*tion  or  a  fizzle?” 

“A  little  of  both,”  was  my  reply.  “Mrs,  Toplass 
is  the  woman  who  fainted  at  the  meeting  and  claimed 
Captain  Shiers  as  her  long-lost  husband.  She 
acknowledges  having  been  unduly  excited  by  the 
man’s  remarkable  resemblance  to  Toplass,  but  is 
apparently  satisfied  that  she  was  mistaken  and 
simply  overpowered  by  her  feelings.  She  is  annoy¬ 
ed  by  the  discovery  of  her  identity,  and  pleaded 
hard  for  the  suppression  of  her  name  in  any  further 
mention  of  the  affair.  The  likeness  of  Shiers  to  a 
portrait  of  Toplass  which  hangs  in  the  parlor  at — • 
Prairie  avenue  is  wonderful.  But  Shiers  and  his 
wife  tell  a  straightforward  story;  he  gave  me  his 
history  from  his  boyish  days  to  the  present  moment, 
speaking  unreservedly  of  a  past  which  is  by  no 
means  a  creditable  one.  The  man,  however,  is  un¬ 
doubtedly  earnest  and  sincere  in  his  present  work; 


78  THE  REPORTER  WRITES  AN  ARTICLE. 

he  speaks  and  acts  like  a  conscientious,  God-fearing 
man,  who  has  repented  of  the  error  of  his  ways  and 
is  striving  hard  to  expiate  past  shortcomings  by  an 
upright  and  sober  life.” 

“He  has  evidently  made  a  deep  impression  on 
you,”  remarked  the  city  editor,  with  a  smile. 

“He  most  assuredly  has,  sir,  for  I  never  met  a 
man  in  his  circumstances  and  calling  with  less  cant 
and  pretensions  or  more  manliness  and  simple  piety. 
Shiers  is  a  character  well  worth  studying.” 

I  gave  a  rapid  sketch  of  the  man’s  career,  indi¬ 
cating  as  best  I  could  Captain  Shiers’  open  and 
graphic  manner  of  narration. 

“That’s  mighty  good  stuff,”  said  the  city  editor, 
who  was  profoundly  interested,  “but  it  isn’t  live 
news’  and  we  can’t  spare  the  space  just  now  for  an 
old  story,  however  spicy.  Keep  it  in  mind,  though, 
it  will  make  a  good  special  some  day.  Write  up 
enough  about  last  night’s  affair  to  show  that  we 
are  acquainted  with  the  inside  facts,  and  keep  your 
promise  to  Mrs.  Toplass;  it  would  be  cruel  to  bring 
her  personally  before  the  public  in  view  of  all  she 
has  gone  through.  It  wouldn’t  be  amiss  to  keep 
track  of  Shiers  and  her;  Toplass  may  turn  up  yet. 


THE  REPORTER  WRITES  AN  ARTICLE.  79 

and  then  you’d  have  a  splendid  chance  to  work  out 
a  rattling  sensation.” 

The  article  I  wrote  was  as  follows: 

Cases  of  mistaken  identity  are  common  enough 
in  police  court  annals,  but  it  is  not  often  that  they 
occur  in  society  circles  or  affect  the  status  of  leaders 
of  religious  movements.  The  exciting  episode  at 
the  meeting  of  the  Salvation  Army  on  Monday 
night  was  the  subject  of  wide  comment  yesterday. 
The  members  of  this  peculiar  sect  have  laid  them¬ 
selves  open  to  adverse  criticism  by  reason  of  their 
grotesque  proceedings  on  the  public  streets  and  in 
their  barracks.  All  manner  of  opprobrious  re¬ 
marks  have  been  made  concerning  their  character 
and  conduct,  and  it  only  needed  an  incident  of  this 
kind  to  emphasize  the  growing  dislike  the  noisy 
band  has  aroused  in  the  public  mind.  Numbers  of 
persons  chuckled  over  the  scandal  implied  in  the 
hysterical  declaration  of  the  unknown  lady  that 
Csptain  Shiers,  the  energetic  leader  of  the  Salvation 
Army,  was  her  husband.  The  fact  that  one  of  the 
sisters  was  married  to  Captain  Shiers  gave  addition¬ 
al  zest  to  the  situation.  A  reporter  carefully  inves¬ 
tigated  the  matter  yesterday,  and,  while  the  result 
is  interesting,  it  is  only  fair  to  state  that  the 


80  THE  REPORTER  WRITES  AN  ARTICLE. 

suspicion  directed  against  Captain  Shiers  and  his 
estimable  wife  is  wholly  unfounded.  The  lady  who 
disturbed  the  meeting  moves  in  the  highest  circles 
of  society.  Two  or  three  years  ago  her  husband,  a 
prominent  citizen  of  Chicago,  disappeared  in  a 
strange  and  unaccountable  manner,  and  despite 
vigorous  search  and  diligent  inquiry  not  a  clue  was 
obtained  as  to  his  fate  or  whereabouts.  Captain 
Shiers  has  the  good  or  bad  fortune  to  resemble  the 
missing  man  in  a  startling  degree.  The  likeness, 
however,  extends  only  to  form  and  face;  the  differ¬ 
ence  between  the  two  men  in  conversation,  manner, 
and  history  is  as  wide  as  the  poles.  Some  one  in¬ 
formed  the  sorrowing  lady  of  the  strange  likeness; 
she  attended,  the  meeting  out  of  curosity,  and,  in  a 
moment  of  intense  nervous  excitement,  excusable 
and  natural  under  the  circumstances,  she  was  be¬ 
trayed  into  making  the  startling  assertion  that  at 
last  her  long-lost  husband  was  found.  ‘T  am 
thoroughly  convinced  of  my  mistake,’’  she  said  to 
the  writer  yesterday  afternoon,  *-and  am  truly  sorry 
if  Captain  Shiers  is  caused  any  annoyance  by  my 
unfortunate  conduct.  He  will  no  doubt  pardon  mo 
when  he  learns  how  my  feelings  overpowered  me 
and  my  heart  cried  out  in  the  very  ecstacy  of  woe.” 


THE  REPORTER  WRITES  AN  ARTICLE.  8l 

Captain  Shiers  was  indubitably  correct  in  stating 
that  he  never  saw  the  unfortunate  woman  before. 
In  the  course  of  a  long  interview  yesterday  evening 
he  gave  the  reporter  a  detailed  account  of  a  career 
as  remarkable  for  exciting  and  dramatic  incidents 
as  was  ever  set  forth  in  modern  romance.  What¬ 
ever  may  be  thought  of  the  strange  service  of  the 
Salvation  Army,  there  is  no  doubt  that  in  Captain 
Shiers  it  possesses  a  leader  whose  simple,  honest 
piety  and  manly  frankness  would  reflect  credit  on 
a  minister  of  any  recognized  denomination. 

Just  as  I  was  finishing  work  that  evening  a  note 
was  handed  me  from  Captain  Shiers.  It  read; 

Dear  Mr.  Burbanks; — Lizzie  and  I  have  talked 
over  the  affair  of  that  poor  lady,  and  she  thinks  that 
perhaps  she  will  never  be  satisfied  until  I  personally 
convince  her  that  I  am  not  her  husband.  My  wife 
is  a  tender  little  woman,  with  keen,  active  sympa¬ 
thies,  and  I’ve  no  doubt  she  is  right  on  this,  as  she 
is  on  every  other  subject.  Therefore,  if  you  deem 
it  proper,  1  would  like  you  to  arrange  for  me  to 
have  an  interview  with  Mrs.  Toplass.  No  harm  can 
possibly  spring  from  our  meeting,  and  probably  the 
Lord  will  direct  it  to  some  good  end.  Please  tell 


82 


THE  REPORTER  WRITES  AN  ARTICLE. 


the  messenger  when  I  can  see  you,  and  oblige  your 
obedient  servant  and  brother,  John  Shiers. 

This  request  struck  me  as  singular,  but  under¬ 
standing  that  Captain  Shiers  was  a  man  whose 
habits  and  thoughts  did  not  run  in  ordinary  chan¬ 
nels,  I  sent  word  for  him  to  meet  me  next  morning, 
when  we  would  discuss  the  advisability  of  the  pro¬ 
posed  interview  with  Mrs.  Toplass. 


CHAPTER  X. 


NEWS  OF  A  LONG  LOST  UNCLE. 

“No  doot,”  said  Captain  Shiers  when  we  met 
next  morning,  “no  doot  thou  thinks  my  request 
strange,  and  mebbe  it  is  a  bit  oot  o’  th’  common,  but 
I  cannot  let  mysen  rest  till  I  see  that  poor  lady  and 
show  her  conclusively  that  I  am  not  her  husband. 
My  waife  says  it  is  a  duty  I  owe  to  society;  she  says 
th’  wooman  is  brooding  over  her  great  sorrow,  and 
mebbe  her  mind  will  give  waay  unless  summat  be 
dune  to  put  it  into  a  healthier  channel.  So,  my  lad, 
I’d  like  thou  to  tak  me  to  her  at  yance.” 

I  was  not  sure  that  any  good  result  would  follow 
a  meeting  of  this  kind,  but  the  man  was  so  earnest 
in  his  desire  for  an  interview  that  I  consented  to 
mention  the  matter  to  Mrs.  Toplass. 

“I  have  an  appointment  with  the  lady,”  said  I; 
“you  can  accompany  me  and  I  will  ascertain  if  she 
will  receive  you.” 

“Arllreet,”  said  he;  “I  know  she’ll  see  me.” 

“What  makes  you  so  confident?” 


84  NEWS  OF  A  LONG  LOST  UNCLE.  ^ 

“Becos  Lizzie  towd  me  she  wad;  she’s  nivver 
mistakken  where  a  wooman’s  hairt  is  concerned.” 

The  man  had  unbounded  faith  in  his  wife's  wis¬ 
dom,  and  the  thought  struck  me  that  Mrs.  Shiers 
had  suggested  the  meeting  for  some  secret  purpose 
of  her  own.  It  was  hard  to  conceive  this  sincere, 
trustful  little  woman  capable  of  any  deceit,  but  it 
did  seem  singular  that  she  should  advise  Captain 
Shiers  to  seek  an  interview  with  Mrs.  Toplass. 
What  could  be  her  object?  She  could  not  suspect 
her  husband  of  duplicity  of  any  kind;  her  calm, 
peaceful  eyes  forbade  any  suspicion  of  jealousy  or 
concealment.  She  had  a  motive  undoubtedly,  but 
for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  determine  what  it  was, 
and  why  my  mind  instinctively  rejected  the  expla¬ 
nation  Captain  Shiers  gave. 

The  friend  whom  Mrs.  Toplass  told  me  she  would 
visit  lived  near  Garfield  Park.  We  took  the  Madi¬ 
son  street  cars.  On  our  way  out  Captain  Shiers 
did  not  talk  much;  he  was  in  a  quiet,  contemplative 
mood,  his  mind  probably  busy  with  the  prospective 
interview.  He  acquiesced  in  my  suggestion  that  he 
remain  at  a  convenient  place  in  the  neighborhood 
until  I  learned  how  the  lady  entertained  the  idea  of 
receiving  him. 


NIWS  07  A  LONQ  LOST  UNCLE. 


85 


I  found  Mrs.  Toplass  nervous  and  excited.  She 
thanked  me  for  suppressing  her  name  from  the 
article  and  eagerly  listened  to  my  account  of  Cap¬ 
tain  Shiers  and  his  wife. 

“You  have  no  doubt,  then,”  she  said,  “that  Cap¬ 
tain  Shiers  is  the  man  he  claims  to  be?” 

“Noneat  all,”  I  replied.  “He  is  a  manly,  simple- 
hearted  fellow,  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  spirit 
of  his  work,  and  apparently  incapable  of  duplicity 
or  deceit.  He  is  very  anxious  to  meet  you,  so  that 
any  lingering  suspicion  you  may  have  as  to  his 
identity  may  be  removed.” 

The  lady  turned  a  shade  paler,  and  her  lips 
trembled  as  she  said,  hesitatingly: 

“Such  a  meeting  would  be  painful,  I  am  afraid. 
The  man  is  so  like  Henry.”  Then,  with  a  sudden 
turn  of  resolution,  she  added: 

“Well,  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  set  all  doubts 
at  rest.” 

“Pardon  me,”  I  said,  “do  you  doubt  the  man's 
story?” 

“I  cannot  explain  myself,”  she  replied,  “every¬ 
thing  is  so  strange  and  bewildering.  I  was  becom¬ 
ing  reconciled  to  my  loneliness  when  fate  took  me 
to  that  meeting.  OhI  it  was  cruel,  cruel!  To  see 


86 


NEWS  OF  A  LONG  LOST  UNCLE. 


him  so  near  after  all  these  dreary  years  of  waiting, 
and  then  to  rudely  awaken  from  the  brief  dream  of 
bliss.  It  was  cruel,  cruel!” 

She  began  to  cry,  but  when  I  intimated  that  she 
might  decline  the  interview,  she  quickly  dried  her 
eyes,  and  remarked  with  forced  composure: 

“Oh,  no!  I  will  see  Captain  Shiers.  A  few  words 
with  him  will  probably  steel  my  heart  for  the  future. 
When  will  it  be  convenient  for  him  to  call?” 

“He  is  in  the  neighborhood,  madam;  if  agree¬ 
able  I  can  bring  him  now.” 

A  slight  shudder  passed  over  the  woman’s 
frame,  but  there  was  renewed  steadiness  in  her 
voice  as  she  replied: 

“Yes,  the  sooner  it  is  over  the  better.  I  will 
receive  him  here,  and  I  will  deem  it  a  favor,  Mr. 
Burbanks,  if  you  will  be  present  during  the  inter- 
view.” 

Of  course  I  gladly  consented  to  this  arrange¬ 
ment.  Mrs.  Toplass’  manner  convinced  me  that 
she  was  still  unsatisfied,  and  that  something  inter¬ 
esting  might  be  expected  from  the  meeting.  I 
went  for  Captain  Shiers,  who  was  awaiting  me  with 
ill-concealed  impatience  in  a  livery  stable. 

“Well,  lad?”  he  queried,  in  an  anxious  tone. 


NEWS  OF  A  LONG  LOST  UNCLE.  8/ 

“Mrs.  Toplass  has  consented  to  see  you/’  I  re¬ 
sponded.  “She  is  still  a  little  excited,  and  I  would 
advise  you  to  be  careful  not  to  wound  her  feelings 
in  any  way.” 

“Nivver  fear,  lad,”  he  said  cheerily;  “I’ll  saay 
nowt  that’ll  harm  her  in  ony  waay.” 

Mrs.  Toplass  was  rocking  herself  in  an  easy 
chair  in  the  parlor  when  we  entered.  She  rose 
somewhat  unsteadily,  and  I  noticed  her  clutch  at 
the  bosom  of  her  dress  when  Captain  Shiers,  in  his 
Salvation  Army  uniform,  stood  bowing  awkwardly 
before  her.  The  light  from  the  windows  fell  on  her 
face,  which  was  slightly  flushed;  her  lips  were  drawn 
tightly  together,  but  her  large  mournful  eyes  were 
steadier  than  I  had  seen  them  before.  It  was  evi¬ 
dent  she  had  nerved  herself  for  the  trying  ordeal. 

Captain  Shiers  face  took  on  a  strange,  puzzled 
expression  as  he  looked  at  the  woman.  His  lips 
twitched  uneasily,  and  I  thought  he  started 
as  their  eyes  met.  This  may  have  been 
fancy,  however;  my  senses  were  strung  to  their 
highest  tension  as  I  had  a  presentiment  that, 
in  some  way  or  other,  the  interview  would  have  a 
sensational  ending. 


88 


NEWS  OF  A  LONG  LOST  UNCLE. 


Mrs.  Toplass  was  the  first  to  speak.  There  was 
a  perceptible  quiver  in  her  voice  as  she  said: 

*‘Pray  be  seated,  gentlemen.” 

The  Salvationist  took  a  chair  at  the  side  of  the 
window  directly  opposite  to  where  Mrs.  Toplass  sat. 
I  seated  myself  on  the  lounge,  where  I  could  watch 
the  faces  of  both. 

After  an  awkward  pause  Mrs.  Toplass  said: 

“I  owe  you  an  apology,  Captain  Shiers,  for  any 
annoyance  my  presence  at  the  meeting  caused  you. 
It  was  an  unfortunate  mistake,  and  I  pray  you  to 
pardon  it.” 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  steadily  on  his  face  as  she 
spoke.  I  thought  there  was  a  peculiar  emphasis  in 
her  voice;  my  imagination  may  have  been  again  at 
fault.  But  there  was  no  mistake  about  the  troubled, 
half-frightened  air  with  which  the  man  glanced 
furtively  at  her,  and  his  voice  seemed  to  have  lost 
its  honest,  sturdy  ring  as  he  replied: 

“Doan’t  apologize  to  me,  ma’am.  This  mon  has 
explained  iverything.  I  thowt  you’d  mebbe  laike 
to  see  me  to  satisfy  yoursen  that  it  wor  your  feelin’s 
carried  you  awaay.  Lizzie — that’s  my  waife — said 
it  wor  a  sensible  and  proper  thing  to  do,  for  of 
coorse,  when  you  saw  and  talked  wi*  me,  it  wad  be 


NEWS  OF  A  LONO  LOST  UNCLE.  89 

plainer  still  that  you  wor  mistaken,  and  kind  o'  ease 
your  maind.” 

Mrs.  Toplass  listened  with  a  pained  look;  she 
never  once  removed  her  eyes  from  the  man's  face, 
and  her  steady  gaze  seemed  to  disconcert  him.  He 
was  unmistakably  uneasy,  and  the  unfavorable 
opinion  which  had  been  forming  in  my  mind  since 
the  introduction  gathered  strength  from  his  awk¬ 
ward  manner. 

“Yes,”  responded  Mrs.  Toplass,  sighing  slightly 
though  her  voice  was  firm;  “it  was  very  kind  and 
considerate  of  you.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  your 
appearance  deceived  me;  you  are  very  like,  and  yet 
unlike  my  poor  husband.  You  have  the  same  deep 
tone  in  speaking,  but  he  did  not  talk  like  you,  and 
he  was  a  Yorkshireman  too.” 

“Indeed,  ma’am,”  exclaimed  Shiers,  “what  mowt 
his  given  name  be?” 

“Henry,”  replied  Mrs.  Toplass. 

“Henry!”  echoed  the  man  in  surprise;  “Henry! 
Why  I  had  an  uncle  named  Henry  Toplass;  he  wor 
very  little  owder  than  me.” 

“Could  he  have  been  my  husband?”  cried  the 
lady  excitedly. 


90  NEWS  OF  A  LONG  LOST  UNCLE. 

“Hardly,  ma’am,”  was  the  reply  with  a  solemn 
shake  of  the  head,  “he  wor  lost  at  sea  nigh  on 
twenty  years  ago.” 

“Ah!” 

There  was  bitter  disappointment  in  this  ejacula¬ 
tion.  The  slight  hope  raised  by  the  similarity  of 
names  was  dashed  ruthlessly  to  the  ground.  Still 
Mrs.  Toplass  struggled  to  revive  it. 

“Can  you  tell  me  something  of  his  history?” 
she  asked,  anxiously. 

“There  is  little  to  tell,  ma’am.  He  wor  my 
grandfather’s  youngest  son,  and  wor  born  at  Ripon 
a  little  betoar  niy  mother  wor  married.  He  wor  a 
wild,  restless  kind  of  a  chap,  and  ran  awaay  to  sea 
efter  he  left  th’  grammer  skule.  He  wor  maate  of 
a  ship  which  wor  lost  wi’  aril  hands  on  her  way  to 
Valparaiso  in  1856.  Noo  I  mention  it.  I’m  reminded 
that  folks  used  to  saay  I  wor  th’  living  image  of 
him.” 

“Might  not  some  one  have  been  saved  from  the 
wreck?”  queried  the  lady,  in  the  same  anxious 
tone. 

“No;  that  seems  impossible,  ma’am;  th’  ship  wor 
reported  lost  in  midocean  durin’  a  severe  storm. 
Not  a  soul  was  ivver  heard  01.  Besides,  ma’am, 


NEWS  OF  A  LONG  LOST  UNCLE. 


91 


supposin’  Uncle  Harry  wor  saaved,  doan’t  you  think 
he’d  bin  mon  enuff  to  let  th’  owd  folks  know?  We 
Yorkshire  folks  are  ruff,  ma’am,  but  we  beant  so 
bad  as  that.” 

“True!  true!”  cried  Mrs.  Toplass,  with  deep  de¬ 
jection  in  her  voice,  and  then  added  suddenly: 

“But  my  Henry  went  away  and  has  never  been 
heard  of.” 

“Yes,  ma’am,  and  a  very  sad  caase,  too,  I’m 
towd,”  responded  Shiers  with  feeling  and  a  touch 
of  his  old  manner,  which  I  was  pleased  to  observe. 

“And,”  continued  the  lady  in  a  peculiar  tone, 
“he  was  born  at  Ripon  in  Yorkshire.” 

“You  doan’t  say  sol” 

Shiers  was  plainly  bewildered  by  this  state 
ment.  His  eyes  opened  wide  in  amazement  and 
his  breath  came  quick  and  hard. 

“You  doan’t  say  sol”  he  repeated,  with  an  awe¬ 
struck  inflection. 

‘Tt  is  true!”  cried  Mrs.  Toplass,  with  renewed 
symptoms  of  excitement;  “and,  what  is  more,  his 
father’s  name  was  Thomas  Toplass  and  he  was  in 
the  ship  supply  business  at  Hartpond.” 

“My  conscience!”  exclaimed  the  man,  springing 
up  and  seizing  her  by  the  hands;  “can  it  be  that 
Uncle  Harry  was  saaved  and  thou’rt  his  wife?” 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  SCAR  ON  HIS  FOREHEAD. 

It  almost  passed  comprehension  that  in  her 
search  for  her  husband,  Mrs.  Toplass  should  find 
his  nephew  and  confound  him  with  the  missing 
man;  it  was  equally  strange  that  the  discovery  of 
the  nephew  should  lead  to  news  of  an  uncle  long 
since  mourned  as  dead.  One  might  search  the 
realms  of  curious  circumstances  in  vain  for  a  para- 
lel  case.  I  was  delighted  with  this  sudden  and  un- 

m 

expected  turn  of  affairs,  which  bade  fair  to  expand 
into  a  rich  and  rare  sensation. 

Mrs.  Toplass  received  this  emotional  outburst 
of  her  putative  nephew  with  outward  composure. 
She  must  have  been  prepared  for  something  of  the 
sort,  for  I  had  held  back  no  important  item  in  my 
hurried  recapitulation  of  the  exciting  incidents  in 
Captain  Shiers*  career,  I  thought  it  strange  that 
she  did  not  give  me  some  hint  of  the  relationship 
which  she  must  at  once  have  seen  existed  between 
her  husband  and  Captain  Shiers.  Her  manner  led 
me  to  believe  that  she  agreed  to  the  interview  with 


THB  SCAB  OM  HIS  rOKEHBAD. 


93 


the  simple  purpose  of  removing  all  doubts  as  to  the 
honesty  and  good  faith  of  the  Salvationist.  But  1 
had  no  time  to  analyze  her  motives;  the  situation 
was  dramatically  interesting,  and  it  mattered  little 
whether  it  was  totally  unlooked  for  or  cunningly 
contrived  for  some  hidden  object.  ' 

Quietly  releasing  herself  from  the  man’s  hearty 
grasp  Mrs.  Toplass  said: 

“Let  us  compare  notes  a  little  further,  Captain 
Shiers.  Perhaps  it  will  smooth  things  if  I  relate 
what  I  know  of  my  husband’s  past.” 

“Most  certainly  it  will,  ma’am,”  said  the  Salva¬ 
tionist,  resuming  his  seat.  “I'm  aril  at  sea,  noo. 
Eh!  but  it  wad  hev  bin  grate  news  for  grandfaather 
before  he  deed.  Think  on  it,  ma’am;  we  aril 
thought  Uncle  Harry  wor  deed  and  gane.  Why, 
there’s  a  yedstane  to  his  memory  in  St.  Hilda 
churchy aard  wi’  some  poetry  on  it  abawt  th’  dan¬ 
gers  of  thoase  who  go  down  to  th’  sea  in  ships. 
Hoo  did  he  manage  to  escape?” 

“I  first  met  Mr.  Toplass  at  an  entertainment 
given  by  the  St.  Andrew’s  society,”  began  the  lady, 
settling  herself  in  the  chair  and  again  fixing  her 
large  eyes  on  Captain  Shiers,  who  still  fidgeted  a 
little  under  their  steady  look.  “He  was  introduced 


94 


THE  SCAR  ON  HIS  FOREHEAD. 


by  a  mutual  friend,  and  we  danced  together  several 
times  ere  the  party  broke  up.  I  was  greatly  pleased 
with  his  manner  and  conversation;  he  was  smilingly 
frank  and  open,  and  gave  me  the  impression  of  a 
cultured  and  honorable  man.  He  asked  permission 
to  call  upon  me  and  I  consented.  His  pleasant, 
genial  ways  soon  made  him  a  favorite  with  my 
parents,  and  I  could  not  help  admiring  his  noble, 
manly  qualities.  We  fell  in  love  and  were  married 
after  a  courtship  of  six  months.  Mr.  Toplass  had 
only  been  in  Chicago  about  a  year,  but  he  had  been 
very  successful  in  business  and  was  able  to  go  to 
housekeeping  in  comfortable  style.  We  rented  a 
flat  on  Wabash  avenue  at  first,  but  his  affairs  pros¬ 
pering  rapidly  in  the  course  of  a  year  my  husband 
built  the  house  on  Prairie  avenue  where  I  now  live 
with  my  two  children. 

“Mr.  Toplass  had  been  very  reticent  about  his  past, 
merely  stating  that  he  was  an  Englishman  of  hum¬ 
ble  parentage,  and  that  he  was  estranged  from  his 
relatives  for  a  reason  he  did  not  care  to  explain.  I 
was  perfectly  satsified  with  this  account;  he  was  all 
a  woman  could  wish  as  a  husband — kind  and  de¬ 
voted — and  the  universal  respect  with  which  he  was 
regarded  in  the  business  community  was  proof  of 


THE  SCAR  ON  HIS  FOREHEAD.  95 

his  urbanity  and  integrity.  After  little  Harry  was 
born  he  talked  more  freely  and  seemed  anxious  to 
communicate  with  his  relatives,  but  he  kept  post¬ 
poning  the  matter,  and  up  to  the  time  of  his  dis¬ 
appearance  he  had  not  written  the  long-deferred 
letter  of  reconciliation.  He  told  me  that  he  was 
born  at  Ripon,  Yorkshire;  that  his  father  was 
Thomas  Toplass,  of  Hartpond;  that  he  had  one 
sister  who  was  married  to  a  farmer,  but  I  do  not 
remember  his  mentioning  the  name  of  her  hus¬ 
band.** 

“That  wad  be  my  mother,”  interrupted  Captain 
Shiers  with  moistened  eyes. 

Mrs.  Toplass  paid  no  heed  to  this  remark,  but 
went  on  with  a  composure  that  struck  me  as  singu¬ 
lar: 

“He  said  that  he  had  received  a  fair  education, 
and  was  intended  for  a  veterinary  surgeon,  but  that 
there  was  Norse  blood  in  his  veins  and  he  could  not 
settle  on  land,  and  that,  despite  the  entreaties  of 
his  parents,  he  went  on  board  ship  and  spent 
several  years  as  a  sailor.  His  last  voyage  was  as 
mate  of  the  Honduras,  which  sailed  from  Liverpool 
for  South  America  in  April,  1856.** 


96  THE  SCAR  ON  HIS  FOREHEAD. 

“The  very  ship,”  exclaimed  Captain  Shiers.  “Eh! 
but  this  is  strange!” 

“He  told  me  of  the  storm  and  shipwreck,  stat* 
ing  that  he  contrived  to  get  in  a  small  boat  when 
the  Honduras  foundered,  and  was  washed  about  for 
three  days  before  being  rescued  by  a  Norwegian 
bark,  which  landed  him  at  Galveston,  Texas.  Tired 
of  the  sea  after  this  rough  experience  he  looked 
about  for  work  on  shore,  and  obtained  a  situation 
as  hotel  porter.  He  saved  money  in  that  humble 
calling,  and  began  trading  on  a  small  scale.  Every¬ 
thing  prospered  with  him,  and  he  soon  owned  a 
store  similar  to  that  of  his  father  in  Hartpond, 
When  the  war  broke  out  he  removed  North,  and 
was  in  business  in  New  York  and  Boston.  The 
roving  spirit  took  possession  of  him  again,  but  it 
did  not  draw  him  to  sea  this  time;  he  drifted  about 
the  country  for  years,  and  finally  located  in  Chicago, 
and  went  into  business  as  a  commission  merchant. 
This  is  all  I  know  of  my  husband’s  history,  sir.  We 
lived  happily,  ah!  so  happily  together.  There 
never  was  a  better  man — so  true,  so  gentle,  so  lov¬ 
ing.  Our  home  was  a  joyous  one  until  that  sad  day 
he  dropped  suddenly  out  of  our  lives,  snapping  the 
cord  of  our  happiness,  making  the  days  blank  and 


THE  8CAR  ON  HIS  FOREHEAD. 


9; 

dreary  and  the  nights  full  of  gloom  and  desolation. 
Never  was  woman  so  wretched  as  I.  Oh!  Henryl 
where  are  you  now?” 

In  an  instant  the  woman’s  composure  left  her, 
and  she  moaned  and  sobbed  as  though  her  heart 
was  breaking.  Moved  by  her  grief  Captain  Shiers 
took  her  hands  gently  and  compassionately. 

“Cheer  oop,  ma’am,”  he  said  with  manly  tender¬ 
ness;  “We  aril  have  our  griefs  in  this  world.  The 
Lord  will  surely  lighten  thine.  Cheer  oop,  happen 
Uncle  Harry  will  coom  back  again,  and  th’  reunion 
will  be  brighter  and  happier  than  hairt  can  con¬ 
ceive.” 

She  let  her  hands  rest  quietly  in  his;  her  sobs 
grew  fainter;  hope  and  love  gleamed  in  her  brim¬ 
ming  eyes.- 

“Yes!  yes!”  she  cried;  “he  will  come  back.  God 
will  not  let  him  remain  away  forever.  He  will 
come  back  to  his  children  and  me.” 

“That’s  reet,”  said  the  man,  ‘‘hope  on,  hope 
ivver;  its  a  blessed  soothin’  thing  to  hope.” 

The  woman  looked  in  his  face  with  hungry, 
yearning  eyes;  her  bosom  heaved,  and  with  a  wild, 
convulsive  sob,  she  threw  herself  on  his  breast,  cry- 


98 


THE  SCAR  ON  HlS  FOREHEAD. 


“O  Henry!  Thank  God,  you  have  come.” 

“Captain  Shiers  drew  back  with  a  horrified  ex¬ 
pression.  She  clung  to  him  passionately. 

“Why,  oh!  why  do  you  spurn  me,  Henry,  my 
husband?” 

“My  good  wooman,”  faltered  the  man,  looking 
amazedly  in  her  face;  “my  good  wooman,  why  this 
madness.” 

“No,  no,”  she  cried  in  beseeching  tones;  “I  am 
not  mad,  Henry;  only  hungering  for  your  love 
again.” 

He  looked  at  me  in  bewilderment,  muttering 
something  I  could  not  make  out.  Mrs.  Toplass 
passed  one  hand  rapidly  over  his  forehead,  crying: 

“I’m  not  mad;  I’m  not  deceived.  See,  there  is 
the  scar  caused  by  a  falling  block.  Oh!  Henry,  do 
not  deny  your  own  wife!” 

On  the  man’s  brow,  partially  hidden  by  the  hair, 
was  a  white  scar.  Captain  Shiers  staggered  back¬ 
ward  as  she  pointed  to  it.  He  was  pale  and  trem¬ 
bling  and  big  drops  of  perspiration  gathered  on  his 
forehead. 

“What  can  this  mean?”  he  cried  huskily. 

“It  means  that  you  are  Henry  Toplass,  my  hus¬ 
band.” 


THE  SCAR  ON  HIS  FOREHEAD.  99 

The  soft  pleading  tones  had  left  her  voice.  She 
drew  herself  to  her  full  height,  and  scorn  flashed 
from  the  eyes  erst  while  bathed  in  pitiful  tears. 

“It  means,  also,  that  you  are  a  craven  wretch,” 
she  cried;  “a  base  impostor,  a  cowardly  deserter  of 
wife  and  children  ” 

/ 

“Unsaay  thy  words,  ma’am,”  said  Captain  Shiers 
in  a  trembling  voice;  “as  God  is  my  judge,  thou’rt 
mistakken  and  crazed  with  thy  sorrow.”  . 

“As  God  is  your  judge  and  mine,”  she  retorted 
with  increasing  scorn,  “you  are  my  miserable, 
worthless,  despicable  husband.  Go  to  your  wanton! 
Go!” 

She  pointed  to  the  door.  The  man’s  head 
dropped  before  her  flashing  eyes.  He  glanced 
timorously  at  me  and  left  the  room  with  a  sorrowful, 
dejected  air. 

Mrs.  Toplass  fell  wailing  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


-  FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE. 

For  a  time  I  was  stunned  by  this  termination  of 
the  interview.  Mrs  Toplass  had  acted  strangely 
from  the  first.  She  was  cool  and  excited  by  turns; 
at  one  time  she  seemed  to  put  implicit  confi¬ 
dence  in  Captain  Shiers*  story;  at  another  her  lan¬ 
guage  denoted  extreme  skepticism.  She  tacitly 
sanctioned  the  impression  that  Henry  Toplass  was 
the  man’s  uncle,  and  then,  veering  like  the  wind, 
claimed  Shiers  as  her  husband  in  the  face  of  power¬ 
ful  evidence  that  he  was  her  nephew. 

Was  the  woman’s  brain  affected?  Or  had  she, 
with  subtle  feminine  perception,  penetrated  a  dis¬ 
guise  that  deceived  even  a  reporter  in  quest  of  a 
sensation?  Was  Captain  Shiers,  the  honest  manly 
fellow  I  believed  him,  or  was  he  the  base  scoundrel 
Mrs.  Toplass  denounced? 

The  case  was  growing  more  and  more  compli¬ 
cated.  There  was  evidently  method  in  her  madness, 
if  the  woman  was  mad.  Affording  him  every  chance 
to  declare  himself,  slowly  revealing  the  agony  of 


FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE.  IQI 

her  spirit  in  her  relation  of  past  happiness,  the  ex¬ 
posure  of  the  scar  was  a  masterstroke  to  bring  the 
man  to  her  feet — a  conscience-stricken  supplicant  for 
forgiveness.  That  failing,  her  heart  revolted,  the 
man  became  an  object  of  scorn  and  loathing,  and 
she  cast  him  off  forever  with  that  last  passionate 
exclamation. 

But  could  Captain  Sheirs,  or  any  one  with  the 
common  feelings  of  humanity,  stand  calmly  in  the 
presence  of  a  deserted  wife  and  solemnly  reject  her 
tearful  claims  for  sympathy  and  love?  His  uneasi¬ 
ness  during  the  interview,  the  half-frightened  air 
with  which  he  met  her  gaze,  the  dejected  manner 
in  which  he  slunk  away,  were  strong  points  against 
him;  but  what  object  could  he  have  in  leaving  a 
comfortable  home  and  prosperous  business,  in  re¬ 
nouncing  social  standing  and  domestic  peace  and 
allying  himself  to  a  lowly  band  of  religionists  who 
often  depended  upon  the  scant  offerings  of  Impov¬ 
erished  followers  for  the  bare  necessities  of  life? 

Was  there  a  skeleton  in  the  Toplass  closet?  Mad 
Mrs.  Toplass  a  dread  secret  of  connubial  sorrow 
locked  in  her  bosom?  Was  Mrs.  Shiers,  who  pro¬ 
posed  this  meeting,  an  honest  woman  or  had  she 


102 


FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE, 


guilty  knowledge  of  the  true  position  of  the  man 
she  proudly  called  husband? 

These  and  kindred  thoughts  crowded  upon  me; 
my  mind  was  burdened  with  perplexity  as  I  raised 
the  sobbing  woman  from  the  floor.  She  thanked 
me  in  a  feeble  voice  and  bade  me  leave  her. 

“  My  heart  is  crushed  she  wailed  in  piteous  tones, 
“  That  man  is  my  husband;  he  denies  and  scorns  me 
to  live  a  life  of  sin  with  a  dissolute  woman.  Oh! 
why  can’t  I  die!” 

It  was  no  time  to  question  the  women.  Her  eyes 
glistened  wildly  through  the  tears;  the  veins  throbed 
on  her  brow,  and  her  breath  came  in  quick  convul¬ 
sive  gasps. 

I  rang  for  assistance,  and  with  a  partial  explana¬ 
tion  of  the  cause  of  the  seizure  I  left  the  house  to 
follow  Captain  Shiers.  Only  a  few  moments  had 
elapsed  since  he  departed,  but  he  was  nowhere  in 
sight.  Taking  a  car  east  on  Madison  street  I  got 
off  at  Halsted  street  and  hurried  to  his  house. 

Mrs  Shiers  responded  to  my  knock  at  the  door. 
There  were  deep  circles  around  her  eyes  and  other 
traces  of  sorrow  in  her  sweet,  womanly  face. 


FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE. 


103 


‘‘Come  in,  sir,  she  said,  with  a  smile;  “strange 
things  have  happened  since  John  went  out  this  morn¬ 
ing.” 

I  entered  the  shabby  little  sitting  room.  On  the 
lounge  lay  a  man  in  a  pitiable  condition.  His  eyes 
were  bloodshot,  white  flecks  of  froth  were  on  his 
lips,  his  face  was  bleared  and  blotched  with  dissipa¬ 
tion,  his  hands  and  feet  twitched  incessantly.  His 
clothes  were  torn  and  bespattered  with  mud,  and 
hideous  moans  came  through  his  chattering  teeth. 

f 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  fellow’s  plight;  he  was 
in  the  first  stage  of  delirium  tremens. 

“I  found  him  in  the  gutter  this  morning,”  said 
Mrs.  Shiers,  answering  my  questioning  look.  “How 
sad  and  strange  it  is!  A  few  years  ago  he  was  well 
dressed,  sober  and  healthful — a  man  whose  appear¬ 
ance  inspired  confidence  and  respect.  And  see  him 
now!’* 

She  bestowed  a  look  of  mingled  pity  and  disgust 
on  the  shaking  wretch. 

“You  know  him,  then?”  I  queried. 

“Yes;  he  is  Edward  Barton,  a  friend  of  ours  in 
the  old  country.” 

“Edward  Barton!”  exclaimed  I,  in  amazement; 
“why  that  is  the  man  whom — 


t04  FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE. 

She  touched  my  arm  warningly  and  responded:  j 

“Yes,  you  know  the  story,  but  don’t  refer  to  it 
now,  please.”  ^ 

There  was  need  of  the  warning,  for  at  the 
mention  of  his  name  the  man  raised  himself  on  his 
elbows  and  shrieked: 

“They’re  coming!  Oh!  They’re  coming!  Save 
me,  save  me!” 

Mrs.  Shiers  went  to  his  side  and  stroked  his  head  ■ 
gently.  His  fear  subsided  under  her  sympathetic 
touch.  The  frightened  expression  died  on  his  face 
and  he  sank  weakly  down  on  the  couch,  muttering: 

“Keep  them  away;  don’t  leave  me!” 

“She  gave  him  a  spoonful  of  medicine  from  a 
bottle  and  motioned  me  out  of  the  room.  1  went 
into  the  kitchen  where  Mrs.  Shiers  soon  joined  me. 

“He  is  easier  now,”  she  said.  “I  called  in  a 
doctor  as  soon  as  I  got  him  up  stairs.  He  says  the 
poor  fellow  is  in  a  critical  state,  ^but  that  careful 
nursing  will  bring  him  round.” 

“And  you  have  undertaken  to  nurse  him?” 

“Certainly,  sir;  I  could  not  leave  him  to  die  on 
the  street.” 

“But  your  husband—how  will  he  tolerate  him 
under  the  same  roof?” 


FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE.  10$ 

She  looked  surprised  at  the  question. 

“Ah!  sir!”  she  said  softly,  “you  forget  that  John 
is  a  changed  man.  The  love  of  God  takes  all  malice 
and  hatred  and  jealousy  out  of  the  heart,  and  fills 
it  with  peace,  good  will  and  loving  kindness  to  all 
mankind.  John  will  aid  me  to  reclaim  that  poor, 
sinful  man.*’ 

“And  you  have  no  misgiving  that  the  old  anger 
will  return?” 

“No,  sir,”  was  the  reply,  with  one  of  those  sweet 
tender  smiles  which  gave  a  saint-like  glory  to  her 
face;  “our  new  life  has  taught  us  to  be  charitable 
and  help  the  afflicted.  John  would  never  forgive 
me  if  I  turned  my  back  on  Ned  Barton  now  that  he 
is  in  need  of  pity  and  tender  care.** 

Here  indeed  was  Christianity  manifesting  itself 
in  good  works.  I  began  to  hate  myself  for  harbor¬ 
ing  vile  suspicion  against  this  calm,  trustful,  help¬ 
ful  little  woman. 

“Where  is  Captain  Shiers?'*  1  asked. 

“1  was  about  to  ask  you  that  question,  sir.  He 
went  out  this  morning  to  keep  an  appointment  with 
you,  I  understood.** 

“Yes,  we  met,  but  he  left  Mrs.  Tdplass  in  ad* 
vance  of  me,  and  1  expected  to  find  him  at  home." 


I06  FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE. 

“Something  may  have  detained  him,’*  she  said 
quietly;  “How  did  you  find  that  poor  lady?” 

I  hesitated  before  replying.  Would  it  be  pru¬ 
dent  to  enlighten  her  as  to  that  strange  interview? 
I  thought  it  advisable  to  let  her  husband  give  her 
the  particulars,  and  merely  replied: 

“She  is  very  much  excited.” 

“It  must  have  been  a  very  trying  ordeal,”  said 
Mrs.  Shiers,  in  a  tone  of  deep  sympathy.  “But 
she’ll  be  better  and  more  resigned  after  being 
thoroughly  convinced  of  her  mistake.” 

“But,”  I  could  not  help  responding,  “but  she  is 
not  convinced.” 

“Not  convinced!”  she  exclaimed  nervously, 
“why,  she  surely  does  not  think  now  John  is  her 
husband.” 

“I  am  afraid  she  does,  madam,”  said  I. 

“How  sad.” 

“Mrs.  Shiers  shook  her  head  mournfully;  she 
seemed  to  think  grief  had  bereft  the  poor  lady  of 
her  senses.  I  was  about  to  reply  when  Captain 
Shiers’  step  was  heard  on  the  stairs.  His  wife’s 
face  lightened  up  when  she  heard  the  familiar  sound. 
She  went  to  the  landing  to  meet  him.  I  heard  her 


FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE. 


107 


whisper  something  about  the  sick  man  in  the  sitting 
room  and  then  they  came  into  the  kitchen  together. 

Captain  Shiers’  face  was  clouded.  He  started 
nervously  and  glanced  anxiously  at  his  wife  as  he 
saw  me. 

“Has  hetowdthou?”  he  asked  huskily. 

“Told  me  what?”  inquired  Mrs.  Shiers. 

“What  that  wooman  said.” 

His  voice  was  still  thick  and  the  troubled  look 
deepened. 

“No,  Mr.  Burbanks  has  told  me  nothing.” 

“I  thank  thee,  lad,”  he  said  to  me;  “its  bet> 
ter  my  lass  should  hear  th*  story  fram  my  oan  lips.” 

Mrs.  Shiers  glanced  anxiously  at  the  man  and 
cried: 

“Thou’s  in  trouble,  John;  what  is  it?” 

“Get  me  my  pipe,”  he  said,  assuming  a  lighter 
tone;  “if  iver  I  wanted  a  bit  o*  'bacca  it’s  noo.” 

His"  wife  brought  pipe  and  tobacco  from  the 
sitting  room. 

“Sit  thee  doon,  lass,  and  listen  to  as  straange  a 
tale  as  wor  ivver  towld  i’  th’  fairy  bukes.” 

He  lighted  his  pipe,  his  brow  clearing  a  little 
under  the  influence  of  the  narcotic  and  related  what 
had  occurred  with  great  fidelity  to  detail.  His  wife 


0 


I08  FORSBODINQS  OF  TROUBLBt 

listened  intently  and  was  visibly  perturbed  during 
the  narration. 

“That  scar!”  she  cried,  “how  could  she  know  of 
that  scar?” 

“God  oanly  knows,”  replied  the  husband;  “it 
puzzles  me  sairly.  That  mark  wor  put  on  my  broo 
when  I  wor  dragged  oop  th*  cliffs  o'  Hartpond 
Moor.  Happen  Uncle  Harry  had  a  scar  there." 
"Then  you  think  your  uncle  was  her  husband?” 

I  queried.  _ 

“I  divven’t  know  what  to  think.  We  aril  i-howt 

he  wof  at  th’  bottom  o’  th*  Atlantic.  Mebbe  he  wor 
saaved,  as  she  said,  but  my  yed’s  aril  muddled. 
Vance  I  thowt  I’d  seen  her  befoar.” 

“Seen  her  before  the  meeting?”  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Shiers. 

“Ves,  lass;  there  wor  a  luke  on  her  face  which 
wor  familiar,  and  sometaimes  her  voice  rang  in  ma 
ears  wi*  a  likely  soond.  Why  of  coorse  (speaking 
with  sudden  inspiration,  it  seemed)  they  wor  famil¬ 
iar!” 

His  wife  and  I  regarded  the  man  with  intense 
surprise;  his  sparkling  eyes  gave  evidence  of  a  glad 
discovery. 


FOREBODINGS  Of  TROUBLE.  lOQ 

’That’s  it,”  he  cried,  animatedly,  pointing  to 
Mrs.  Shiers;  “luke,  lad,  it  wor  her  face  and  her  voice 
I  heerd.” 

I  looked  at  the  little  anxious  woman,  and  sure 
enough  there  was  an  expression  about  her  eyes  and 
mouth  which  recalled  the  sorrowful  face  of  Mrs. 
Toplass.  It  was  a  fleeting,  flickering  resemblance 
which  was  gone  almost  ere  it  could  be  defined;  it 
gleamed  fitfully  in  her  eyes  when  pity  or  anxiety 
were  at  work  in  her  heart.  There  was  a  similar 
look  in  Captain  Shiers  face  when  he  was  moved  by 
deep  feeling.  I  regarded  it  as  another  singular  co¬ 
incidence  in  this  marvelous  web  of  curious  gircum*’ 
stances. 

“Of  coorse,”  continued  the  Captain,  “I’m  sorry 
for  th’  poor  wooman,  for  much  grief  has  unsettled 
her  mind,  Mebbe  I  owt  to  hev  staayed  and  rea¬ 
soned  wi’  her,  but  she  wor  so  wrowt  oop  I  wor  afraid 
q’  th*  consequences.  Thou  mebbe  thowt  it  queer  I 
left  when  I  did,” 

“Yes,  I  did.  Captain,”  was  my  reply,  ”and  I  fol¬ 
lowed  as  soon  as  1  could  to  put  a  few  questions  to 
you.” 


no 


FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE. 


“Ah!  fire  awaay,  my  lad.  Oot  wi'  thy  suspicions, 
for  I  knaw  thou  maun  hev  soom  efter  th*  queer 
events  o’  this  morning.” 

“Your  explanation  has  answered  them,  Captain. 
I  saw  you  were  uneasy  when  Mrs.  Toplass  gazed  so 
earnestly  in  your  face;  that  undoubtedly  arose  from 
the  fact  that  you  could  not  then  account  for  her  fa¬ 
miliar  expression.” 

“Exactly;  it  worried  me  up  till  a  mornent  gone, 
when  I  happened  to  luke  at  Lizzie  there.” 

“And  as  to  the  scar - ” 

“Thou  thowt  it  queer  she  should  faind  th’  same 
maark  on  my  yed,”  he  interrupted.  “Ay,  so  did  I, 
but  accoont  for  the  strange  coincidence  I  cannot. 
I  can  oanly  repeat  what  I  said  befoar:  This  is  my 
oan  true  loving  wife;  we’ve  bin  married  sixteen 
years  or  mair,  an’  I’m  as  innocent  o’  th’  chaarge  of 
bein’  that  wooman’s  hoosband  as  my  bairn  Bob. 
Lizzie,  show  him  the  marriage  laines. 

Mrs.  Shiers  went  to  the  sitting-room  and  re¬ 
turned  with  an  oblong  certificate  of  blue  paper  pur¬ 
porting  to  be  a  true  copy  from  the  register  of  St. 
Hilda  Church.  It  set  forth  that  John  Shiers  and 
Elizabeth  Moor  were  married  in  the  parish  church 
of  Hartpond,  according  to  the  rites  and  ceremonies 


FOREBODINGS  OF  TROUBLE. 


Ill 


of  the  Established  Church,  after  publication  of 
banns,  by  Alfred  Turnbull,  surrogate,  in  the  pres¬ 
ence  of  Henry  Johnson  and  Abigail  Pounder,  on 
July  5,  1869. 

“Noo  I  hope  I’ve  satisfied  thee,  at  least,”  said 
Captain  Shiers,  after  I  had  inspected  this  interest¬ 
ing  document. 

“I  was  satisfied  before,”  I  remarked,  “only - ” 

“Oanly  this  unlooked  for  chaarge  unsettled  thy 
faith,”  he  interrupted.  “I  don’t  blame  thee,  lad; 
it’s  nobbut  natural,  an’  I  maun  confess  I’m  mystified 
and  muddled  and  troubled  mysen.  But  I  can  do  ne 
mair  than  aw’ve  dune.” 

“We  can  pray  God  to  restore  the  husband  of 
that  poor  lady,”  said  his  wife,  devoutly,  “or  if  he  is 
past  earthly  restoration,  we  can  ask  Him  to  give  her 
strength  to  bear  her  lot  and  to  reunite  them  in 
eternity.” 

“Ay,  we  can  do  that,”  cried  the  man,  with  a  re¬ 
turn  ot  his  hearty  manner. 

“And  there’s  a  poor  stricken  sinner  in  the  other 
room  who  need ;  our  prayers  also,”  added  Mrs. 
Shiers. 

“Who  is  th*  poor  chap?”  asked  the  Captain 
kindly. 


XU  FQRSBOPJNQS  QF  TBOVBLl. 

“Ned  Barton,  John.” 

“Ned  Barton  I  Merciful  heaven,  trouble  seeni* 
to  be  clutherin*  roond  me.” 

His  face  turned  red  and  pale  by  turns,  and  th^ 
anxious,  perplexed  look  came  back.  The  presence 
of  his  old  rival  was  evidently  as  unwelcome  as  it 
was  unexpected.  He  looked  wonderingly  at  his 
wife,  who  kissed  him  tenderly  on  the  forehead,  and 
said: 

“He  needs  our  help,  John.” 

“Well,  God’s  will  be  dune,  lass,”  he  said,  with  a 
heavy  sigh,  as  he  passed  his  hand  nervously  through 
his  hair,  “but  trooble  seems  to  be  clutherin’  roond,” 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  doctor’s  strange  DISCOVERY. 

When  I  reported  at  the  office  that  afternoon,  Dr. 
Gillman,  the  celebrated  South  Side  physician,  was 
awaiting  me. 

“I  am  going  to  reverse  the  usual  order  of 
things,”  said  he,  smiling,  “and  interview  a  reporter. 
I  want  some  information  in  regard  to  a  patient  of 
mine.” 

“1  divined  his  errand  at  once  and  said: 

“You  refer  to  Mrs.  Toplass?” 

“Hello!  Burbanks,”  responded  the  doctor,  peer¬ 
ing  into  my  face  with  a  professional  air.  “You  need 
a  sedative;  your  mind  is  a  little  too  active.  There 
is  always  danger  in  these  psychological  pranks; 
they  betoken  inherited  neurosis,  and  are  the  direct 
forerunners  of  disease  and  death.” 

“None  of  your  scientific  jargon,  doctor,”  said  I 
laughing;  “am  I  not  right?” 

“You  are,  my  friend,”  said  Dr.  Gillman,  seriously. 
“I  was  summoned  to  the  lady  by  telephone  and 

found  her  in  a  very  precarious  condition.  Her 
8G 


114  the  doctor's  strange  discovery. 

temperature  is  very  high  and  her  utterance  inco: 
herent;  I  am  afraid  of  brain  fever.  She  has  had  a 
severe  mental  shock,  I  und^stand.  You  were  pres¬ 
ent  when  the  attack  came  on,  and  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  all  about  this  Captain  Shiers,  whom  she  persists 
in  calling  her  husband.  Remember  that  I  am  the 
friend  as  well  as  the  physician  of  the  family,  and 
knew  poor  Toplass  well.’' 

“Then  we  may  be  of  mutual  assistance,  doctor,” 
I  responded,  “for  the  case  is  perplexing  in  the  high¬ 
est  degree.” 

I  told  him  the  facts  already  set  forth  in  these 
pages.  The  doctor  interrupted  me  several  times  to 
put  questions  concerning  the  man’s  behavior  during 
the  exciting  interview  with  Mrs.  Toplass.  1  in¬ 
formed  him  of  my  suspicions  and  the  manner  in 
which  they  were  dissipated  by  Captain  Shiers.  The 
incident  of  the  scar  impressed  him  deeply. 

“That  scar  is  the  main  obstacle  to  the  truth  of 
the  man’s  story,”  said  Dr.  Gillman.  “It  is  a  peculiar 
mark.  The  surgeon  who  attended  Toplass  was  not 
very  skillful;  the  stitches  were  defective,  and  a  de¬ 
pression  was  left  in  the  center  of  the  forehead, 
which  is  observable  to  a  quick  eye  and  a  sensitive 


THE  doctor’s  STRANGE  DISCOVERY.  II5 

touch.  I  could  swear  to  the  scar  among  a  thous¬ 
and.” 

“Then  it’s  lucky  you’ve  been  called  into  consul¬ 
tation;  we  can  easily  devise  a  decisive  test  of  the 
man’s  identity.” 

“Yes,  but  this  is  an  affair  in  which  we  must  make 
haste  slowly.  We  don’t  want  to  make  a  hullabaloo 
and  flood  the  papers  with  sensational  articles.  Top- 
lass  was  a  reputable  man,  and  there’s  no  telling 
what  may  have  driven  him  to  this  extreme.” 

“You  forget,  doctor,  that  we  sprung  this  quarry 
ourselves,  and  it  is  legitimate  game.” 

“I  forget  nothing,  Burbanks;  you  deserve  a 
great  deal  of  credit  for  the  considerate  manner  in 
which  you  have  pursued  the  investigation,  and  you 
newspaper  men  are  too  high-minded  to  wantonly 
publish  matters  which  can  conserve  no  good  pur¬ 
pose.” 

“Thanks,  doctor;  praise  from  Dr.  Gillman  is 
praise  indeed.” 

“The  doctor  laughed,  and  said  slyly; 

“We’ve  got  to  smooth  you  fellows  down  occa¬ 
sionally;  you  get  more  kicks  than  ha’pence,  and  a 
little  judicious  praise  is  a  good  button  for  the  sharp 
point  of  a  pencil.” 


Il6  THE  doctor's  strange  DISCOVERY. 

“We  are  getting  away  from  the  immediate  point 
at  issue,"  said  I ;  “the  propriety  of  publication  is  a 
question  that  can  be  deferred  until  we  probe  the 
mystery.  As  we  are  speaking  confidentially  now, 
tell  me  if  everything  was  smooth  and  pleasant  in 
the  Toplass  household." 

“My  boy,"  responded  Dr.  Gillman,  “let  me  again 
warn  you  about  that  brain  of  yours;  it  is  far  too 
active  to  be  entirely  healthy,  A  sea  voyage,  with 
the  gentle  murmur  of  the  waves  to  lull  your  senses 
into  forgetfulness,  or  a  trip  to  a  mining  camp,  where 
the  piff-paff  of  the  pistol  soothes  like  the  tick  of 
your  grandfather’s  clock,  is  what  I  advise.  But, 
seriously,  why  do  you  ask?" 

“But  for  a  satisfaction  of  my  thought,  doctor; 
no  further  harm.” 

“Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  which  there  is  no  keep¬ 
ing  back  from  you  quick-witted  fellows,  Mrs.  Top- 
lass  was  a  trifle  exacting  and  inordinately  jealous." 

“And  had  cause?" 

“Not  quite  so  fast,  my  friend;  she  had  no  cause. 
Toplass  was  a  noble,  manly  fellow,  passionately 
fond  of  his  wife  and  babies.  He  had  no  eye  for  any 
other  woman,  although  treating  the  sex  courteously 
and  considerately  as  every  gentleman  should.  But, 


THE  doctor’s  strange  DISCOVERY.  II7 

as  often  happens  where  the  husband  is  eminently 
trustworthy  and  constant,  Mrs.  Toplass  was  often 
distraught  with  the  green-eyed  monster  which  plays 
havoc  in  so  many  homes.  Her  sighs  and  groans 
and  anxious  espionage  led  him  a  dance  sometimes 
which  was  exceedingly  trying  to  a  sensitive  organ¬ 
ization.” 

Wouldn’t  this  unfortunate  habit  of  his  wife  afford 
Toplass  a  reasonable  excuse  for  turning  up  miss¬ 
ing?” 

“There’s  no  determining  what  result  jealousy 
may  have  in  any  given  case.  Constant  dripping 
wears  away  stone,  and  a  loyal  heart  may  become  re¬ 
bellious  by  reason  of  continued  accusations  of  dis¬ 
loyalty.  But  we  will  postpone  this  discussion. 
Show  me  the  note  you  received  from  this  Captain 
Shiers.” 

I  handed  him  the  note;  as  he  read  it  his  face 
assumed  an  aspect  of  intense  satisfaction. 

“Didn’t  you  notice  anything  strange  about  this 
epistle?”  he  asked. 

“Only  one  thing.” 

“And  that  is?” 

“That  it  is  couched  in  better  language  than  one 
plight  expect  from  a  man  of  Shiers’  position  and 


Il8  THE  DOCTOR’^S  strange  DISCOVERY, 

limited  education.  Of  course,  it  is  rarely  the  case 
that  a  man  writes  as  he  talks,  and  the  absence  of 
dialect  in  the  note  did  not  surprise  me;  but  it  is 
reasonable  to  suspect  some  little  trick  of  phrase¬ 
ology  which  would  betray  homely  methods  of 
thought  and  expression.” 

“Very  true,  my  friend,  but  there  is  something 
even  more  remarkable  in  this  brief  missive.” 

“Explain.*' 

“It  is  unmistaxably  in  the  handwriting  of  Henry 
Toplass,  late  commission  merchant  of  Chicago!  1 
know  the  characters  well!” 

This  was  a  great  discovery;  taken  in  connection 
with  the  scar,  it  was  irrefragible  proof  that  Captain 
Shiers,  whose  simplicity  of  life  and  solemn  affecta¬ 
tion  of  humble  piety  had  beguiled  me  into  sympa¬ 
thy  and  admiration,  was  a  base  impostor. 

“Let  us  unmask  the  scoundrel  at  once,”  I  cried. 

“Don’t  get  excited,  Burbanks,”  said  the  doctor, 
quietly.  “We  must  proceed  calmly  and  deliberate¬ 
ly.  This  may  not  be  a  case  for  a  policeman’s  club. 
It  is  just  as  likely  that  the  man  is  in  an  unconscious 
state  of  pernicious,  mental  and  physical  activity, 
and  that  the  services  of  a  humane  physician  are  re- 
q«ire<l" 


THE  doctor’s  strange  DISCOVERY.  Iig 

“What  do  you  mean?” 

“That  Toplass  may  be  in  a  peculiar  psychologi¬ 
cal  condition  thatiinpells  him  to  act  and  speak  like 
another  person,  and  that  he  has  no  consciousness 
of  his  past  life  or  real  character.” 

“Why,  that  is  lunacy.” 

“Yes,  that  is  the  vulgar  appellation,”  responded 
the  doctor,  grimly,  “but  modern  science  is  progres¬ 
sive  and  in  some  respects  euphonious.  The  South 
Side  preacher  who  bodily  appropriated  the  sermon 
of  an  eloquent  divine  was  afflicted  with  unconscious 
cerebration.  In  characterizing  the  conduct  of  Top- 
lass,  who  is  personating  the  life  and  manners  of 

some  unknown  individual,  why  not  be  equally  as 
lenient  and  call  it  a  complicated  case  of  unconscious 
cerebration.  The  cases  are  analagous,  inasmuch  as 
they  both  evince  the  imperfect  action  of  a  diseased 
brain.” 

“Well,  what  course  do  you  propose,  doctor?” 

“I  think  we’d  better  let  the  fellow  enjoy  the 
felicity  of  his  present  domestic  arrangements  in 
peace  and  study  him  in  his  war-paint  at  the  meeting 
this  evening.” 

^‘Agreed," 


120  THE  doctor’s  STRANOl  DISCOVERY. 

Meantime  let  us  keep  our  own  counsel,  and 
medical  skill,  in  conjunction  with  reportorial  sagac¬ 
ity,  will  bring  order  and  harmony  out  of  this  chaos 
of  confusing  conjectures.” 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AT  THE  SALVATION  BARRACKS. 

Carrying  out  their  craze  for  military  nomencla¬ 
ture  the  Salvationists  call  their  meeting  places  bar¬ 
racks.  At  the  time  of  this  story  they  were  dreary, 
desolate-looking  halls,  as  a  rule,  for  the  owners  of 
well-appointed  places  refused  to  rent  them  to  the 
army  because  of  the  boisterous  character  of  their 
congregations.  Broken  chairs  and  creaking  benches 
comprised  the  furniture,  indicating  physical 
rather  than  spiritual  welfare;  and  the  dusty  windows 
stuffed  with  rags  suggested  that  tidiness  and  clean¬ 
liness  were  not  regarded  as  akin  to  godliness. 

/ 

The  barracks  over  which  Captain  Shiers  exer¬ 
cised  command  were  as  bare  and  dirty  and  cheer¬ 
less  as  the  veriest  sloven  could  wish.  More  than 
half  the  panes  were  out  of  the  windows;  the  chairs 
were  rickety,  the  walls  streaked  with  finger-marks, 
the  ceiling  smoked  and  flecked  with  paper  pellets, 
and  the  floor  an  inch  thick  with  dust. 

When  Dr.  Gilman  and  I  entered,  the  army  had 
just  ended  its  street  parade,  and  with  beating  drums 


122 


AT  THE  SALVATION  BARRACKS. 


and  tinkling  tamt)ourines,  were  pushing  their  way 
through  a  motly,  ill-smelling  crowd  to  the  platform. 
Captain  Shiers,  flourishing  his  cornet  frantically  as 
he  marshaled  his  forces,  was  the  most  conspicuous 
figure  in  the  band.  His  face  was  streaming  with 
perspiration;  his  voice  sounded  strangely  uncouth 
as  he  alternately  bawled  commands  and  shouted 
“Glory!”  and  his  eyes  flashed  with  excitement  when 
he  reached  the  stage  and  mopped  his  shapely  head 
'  with  a  red  cotton  handkerchief. 

“That’s  our  man,  sure  as  fate,”  whispered  Dr. 
Gillman;  “I  cannot  be  mistaken.” 

The  soldiers  toOk  their  station  on  the  platform. 
They  numbered  thirty  in  all.  Some  were  attired  in 
red  guernseys,  others  had  military  jackets  with  red 
facings  and  braided  epaulets.  The  sisters  wore 
short  sombre  print  gowns  and  broad-brimmed  hats, 
whose  only  trimming  was  a  bright  red  ribbon  with 
“Salvation  Army”  printed  thereon  in  black  letters. 
In  repose  they  were  demure,  timid  looking  women, 
whose  facial  characteristics  were  pinched  cheeks 
and  large,  hungry,  glittering  eyes.  When  the  clar¬ 
ion  notes  of  the  cornet  sounded  the  attack  on  the 
hQ9ts  of  9int  baahf^ln^ss  and  fimidity  were  thrown 


AT  THE  SALVATION  BARRACKS.  I23 

to  the  winds,  and  they  screamed  and  jesticulated  as 
if  Bedlam  had  broken  loose  in  their  midst. 

Mrs.  Shiers  was  not  there,  and  I  was  glad  of  it. 
I  could  scarcely  bare  to  think  of  that  calm,  spiritual 
little  woman  shaking  a  tambourine  and  aiding  in 
that  wild  jumble  pf  discordant  sounds.  She  was,  no 
doubt,  engaged  in  more  congenial  work  at  home, 
nursing  that  trembling  inebriate  back  to  health  and 
sobriety. 

There  was  little  in  the  service  to  induce  respect. 
Songs  and  exhortations  followed  one  another  with 
bewildering  rapidity.  The  base-drummer  thanked 
God  for  rescuing  him  from  a  life  of  sin.  He  said 
the  very  drum  with  which  he  awoke  the  echoes  of 
that  dismal  hall  had  startled  him  in  the  middle  of  a 
burglary,  and  he  dropped  the  dark  lantern  and 
jimmy  and  became  a  soldier  of  the  cross.  A  lank, 
lantern-jawed  youth,  who  marked  time  with  a  tri¬ 
angle,  declared  that  the  drum-beat  recalled  him 
from  sneak-thieving  and  drunkenness  and  directed 
his  steps  to  Calvary.  A  peaked-faced  damsel  of 
eighteen,  with  shocky  hair  and  a  shrill  voice,  averred 
that  the  same  solemn  note  aroused  her  from  the 
vilest  lethargy  of  sin  and  tnade  her  cling  to  the  Rock 
of  Agesi 


134  at  thb  salvation  barracks* 

So  the  pitiable  record  or  past  wretchedness  went 
on.  Each  and  every  one  of  the  soldiers  had  a  tale 
of  wickedness  and  reclamation  to  tell.  The  shouts 
of  “glory**  and  “hallelujah**  which  greeted  every 
confession  made  the  rafters  ring. 

The  effect  on  the  audience  was  peculiar.  The 
men  were  rough-looking.  Numbers  were  coatless 
and  collarless;  scores  bore  the  impress  of  vTce  and 
dissipation.  Some  were  there  to  scoff,  and  inter¬ 
rupted  the  services  with  coarse  ejaculations.  Others, 
attracted  by  curiosity,  and  probably  influenced  by 
that  potential  drum,  listened  to  the  prayers  and 
confessions  with  serious,  awe-struck  faces.  Their 
attitude  suggested  the  mysterious  awakening  which 
the  speakers  declared  must  precede  conversion. 
The  soldiers  directed  all  their  batteries  against 
them,  and  loud  shouts  of  victory  went  up  when  one 
conscience-stricken  man  arose  in  the  body  of  the 
hall  and  begged  for  prayers  for  his  soul. 

Captain  Shiers  read  a  passage  of  Scripture  and 
delivered  a  brief  sermon  on  the  saving  power  of 
the  Gospel.  His  quaint  dialect  and  magnetic  elo¬ 
quence  swayed  the  audience  wonderfully,  silencing 
the  scoffers  and  moving  many  of  the  truth-seekers 
to  tears.  He  told  what  religion  had  done  for  him^ 


AT  THE  SALVATION  BARRACKS.  125 

how  hard  Satan  beset  him  in  youth,  dragging  him 
through  shifting  scenes  and  stages  of  wickedness 
intil  the  scaffold,  with  its  horrible  dangling  noose, 
ttared  him  in  the  face. 

“God  had  to  get  me  doon  and  jump  on  me,”  he 
cried,  “befoar  Fd  relinquish  my  evil  waays.  Oh! 
my  friends,  diwent  wait  until  you’re  in  that  strait; 
doan’t  tempt  your  Heavenly  Faather  too  much.  Th* 
patience  of  God  is  graat  beyond  oonderstandin*,  but 
it  hes  its  limits.  Doan’t  try  to  measure  that  limit; 
howl  oot  your  hands,  noo,  open  your  hairts  to  th’ 
blessed  dew  of  divine  graace.  Ivery  moment  is 
precious;  time  is  slipping  past  us  into  eternity;  noo 
is  th*  accepted  hour;  Coom,  poor  sinner;  throw 
your  burden  on  th’  cross.  Begin  th’  new  life  to¬ 
night.  Oh!  it’s  a  graat  and  glorious  life,  full  of 
sweet  joy  and  peace.  Sin  is  poisoned  pleasure;  th’ 
gowden  chalice  hes  bitter,  bitter  dregs.  Dash  it  to 
th’  groond  and  drink  of  th’  waters  of  iverlastin’  life. 
Th’  draught  will  be  sweeter  than  wine;  it  nourishes 
while  it  cheers,  it  maks  glad  th’  soul  and  opens  th’ 
hairt  to  delights  unknown  to  th’  followers  of  Satan. 
Coom,  my  friends,  th’  good  Lord  is  callin’  you.  He 
stretches  oot  His  hands  to  snatch  you  fram  th’  pit. 


126 


AT  THE  SALVATION  BARRACKS. 


Doan’t  hesitate — hesitation  means  deeth  and  dom- 
nation;  acceptance  means  life  in  Heaven  wi*  angels 
and  saints  and  joy  everlastin*.  Coom,  th’  Savior 
knocks  at  your  hairts;  oppen  them  and  let  Him  in.” 

Several  men  cried  out  for  mercy;  the  simple, 
touching  appeal  had  struck  home  to  their  hearts, 
and  their  piteous  plea  for  help  evoked  a  loud  paean 
of  praise  from  the  soldiers  on  the  platform.  The 
meeting  was  dismissed  soon  after  this  triumphant 
result  of  Captain  Shiers’  rough  eloquence. 

“Shall  I  introduce  you?”  I  asked  Dr.  Gillman, 
who  had  watched  the  Captain  earnestly  during  the 
meeting. 

“No,”  was  his  quiet  reply,  “the  time  is  not  ripe.” 

“Are  you  of  the  same  opinion  still?”  I  queried, 
thinking  I  detected  a  tone  of  doubt  in  his  voice. 

“Most  decidedly;  Captain  Shiers  is  no  other 
than  Henry  Toplass.” 

*  How  do  you  account  for  the  dialect?” 

“I  account  for  nothing  just  now,”  he  replied. 
The  man  who  led  that  meeting  is  Toplass,  and, 
moreovei,  he  is  a  genuine,  thorough-going  Chris¬ 
tian,  if  there  ever  was  one  in  the  world.” 

“But  your  assertion  embraces  a  contradiction.” 


AT  THE  SALVATION  BARRACKS.  127 

“I  know  it;  but  no  more  buts  at  present.  I  am 
going  home  to  cogitate.  To-morrow  I  may  be  able 
to  suggest  a  plan  whereby  we  can  change  an  honest, 
simple  follower  of  the  cross,  into  a  money-grabbing 
but  respectable  Chicago  merchant.  Good  night. 
Come  to  my  State  street  office  at  lo  in  the  morn- 
ing. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LITTLE  bob’s  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  FATHER. 

No  man  was  better  qualified  than  Dr.  Gillman  to 
deal  with  a  case  of  dual  personality  arising  from 
psychological  causes  or  brain  disorder.  He  was  a 
profound  student  of  mental  science,  and  his  treatise 
on  ‘‘Insanity  in  its  relations  to  Metaphysics’*  was 
emphatically  indorsed  by  the  American  Psycho¬ 
logical  Association,  a  body  of  learned  and  practical 
men,  who  do  not  exempt  any  function  of  mind, 
however  exalted,  from  physical  research,  but  seek 
the  indelible  records  of  eternal  truth  in  the  laws  of 
nature.  His  monograph  on  “Conscience,”  in  which 
he  traced  an  essential  connection  between  moral 
sense  and  brain,  and  boldly  concluded  that  con¬ 
science  was  largely  a  function  of  organization, 
caused  a  great  commotion  in  religious  circles,  in 
which  he  was  denounced  as  an  “impious  monster, 
using  a  perverted  intellect  to  destroy  belief  in  the 
separate  existence  of  the  soul.” 

The  doctor  was  not  a  master  of  this  kind  of  in¬ 
vective.  He  replied  to  his  critics  in  a  c^lm,  philo¬ 
sophical  style,  which  carried  confusion  into  their 


LITTLE  bob's  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  FATHER.  1 29 

ranks.  “Evangelists  and  theologians,”  he  wrote, 
fight  and  haggle  over  the  ‘souls’  of  men,  forgetful 
of  the  recognized  scientific  fact  that  morality  and 
‘spirituality*,  which  appertain  to  the  functions  of 
'soul,*  depend  upon  organization,  and  the  physical 
condition  of  the  body  and  brain.  Perfect  physical 
and  mental  action  result  in  perfect  lives.  Exalta¬ 
tion  of  any  kind  is  caused  by  disease  or  unhealthy 
action  of  the  brain.  If  the  millennium  ever  reigns 
on  earth  it  will  be  after  centuries  of  close  attention 
to  health  and  physical  development  have  eradicated 
the  effects  of  inherited  imperfections  of  mind  and 
body,  which  are  the  cause  of  all  the  misery,  disease 
and  wretchedness  afflicting  mankind.” 

Dr.  Gillman’s  declaration  that  Shiers,  whom  he 
believed  to  be  no  other  than  his  old  friend  Henry 
Toplass,  was  an  earnest  and  devout  Christian,  struck 
me  as  singular.  Thoroughly  impressed  with  the 
Doctor’s  theory  of  the  man’s  identity,  I  was  more 
inclined  to  dub  him  a  worthless,  hypocritical,  big¬ 
amous  scoundrel,  and  I  was  anxious  to  see  him  in 
the  dock  receiving  sentence  for  his  infamous  crime. 

I  did  not  forget  that  the  doctor  hinted  at  a  men¬ 
tal  disturbance  which  might  render  Shiers  unac¬ 
countable  for  his  actions,  but  I  could  not  persuade 
.9G 


130  LITTLE  BOB'^S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  FATHER. 

myself  that  this  occult  condition  palliated  an  offense 
against  the  laws  of  the  state. 

I  met  Dr.  Gillman,  as  appointed,  next  morning. 
He  had  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Toplass 
and  was  in  a  thoughtful,  contemplative  mood. 

“She  is  a  little  easier,”  he  said  in  answer  to  my 
inquiry.  “The  danger  of  brain  fever  is  not  so  great, 
although  it  has  not  entirely  passed.  Her  mind  is 
rambling  and  her  talk  wild  and  disconnected.  She 
needs  perfect  quiet.” 

“Well,  as  to  Shiers — what  had  we  better  do?” 

“Let  him  alone  for  the  present.  His  is  a  peculiar 
case  and  wants  careful  handling.” 

“Why  not  tell  him  he  is  found  out  and  bring 
matters  to  a  crisis?” 

“Because  such  a  proceeding  might  effect  a 
further  complication.  He  is  not  in  his  right  mind;' 
I  am  firmly  convinced  of  that,  and  is  unconscious 
of  wrong-doing.  A  sudden  shock  might  be  disas¬ 
trous  in  more  ways  than  one.  I  have  set  inquiries 
afoot  in  England  by  cable,  and  want  to  ascertain 
what  truth  there  is  in  his  story  before  disturbing 
him  in  any  way.  That  romantic  tale  of  shipwreck, 
drunkenness,  and  attempted  murder,  may  be  the 
figment  of  a  diseased  brain.” 


LITTLE  bob’s  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  FATHER.  I3I 

‘‘Then  you  still  believe  him  insane?’* 

“What  other  conclusion  can  be  drawn?  The 
man  is  in  an  exalted  state,  and  it  is  lucky  that  his 
madness  takes  this  harmless  form.  You  were  sur¬ 
prised  last  night  when  I  told  you  he  was  a  devout, 

I 

earnest  Christian.  Certain  forms  of  religious  belief 
and  conduct  are  directly  traceable  to  an  ill-balanced 
intellect;  but  if  they  tend  to  conserve  the  interests 
of  morality  we  cannot  complain,  since  the  great 
requisite  of  the  age  is  increased  morality  in  public 
and  private  life.  Toplass’  mind  has  been  turned 
into  a  profitable  groove,  for  he  is  undoubtedly  bet¬ 
tering  the  moral  condition  of  a  class  of  people 
whose  organization  is  responsive  to  faith  in  contra¬ 
distinction  to  works.  Let  him  go  on  with  his  mis¬ 
sion  for  the  present.  We’ll  have  the  parsons  down 
on  us  with  their  anathemas  quick  enough  when  we 
show  this  evangelical  medium  actuated  by  a  morbid 
condition  of  the  brain.” 

“Do  you  think  the  woman  he  is  cohabiting  with 
is  afflicted  with  the  same  species  of  insanity?” 

“That’s  a  hard  nut  to  crack  at  present.  From 
your  account  of  her,  she  seems  to  be  one  of  those 
high-strung,  emotional  natures  who  excuse  social 
irregularities  on  all  kinds  of  irrational  pretexts. 


132  LITTLE  BOB'S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  FATHER. 

But  it’s  no  good,  discussing  her;  I’ve  not  seen  her 
and  know  nothing  of  her  past.” 

“Then  the  boy,  Doctor,”  said  I,  thinking  for  the 
first  time  of  this  stumbling-block  to  our  theory,  “he 
is  old  enough  to  give  information  in  regard  to  his 
parents.” 

“Confound  it,”  responded  Dr.  Gillman,  “Fd  for¬ 
gotten  the  boy.  Fourteen  years  old  you  say,  and 
bright  and  intelligent?  I  think  you’d  better  manage 
to  talk  with  him  alone.  Unless  he  is  trained' in  de¬ 
ceit,  and  I  cannot  imagine  such  a  thing,  we  may  get 
something  out  of  the  boy  which  will  be  of  service 
when  we  undertake  the  restoration  of  his  putative 
father’s  reason.” 

“Or  something  that  will  knock  all  our  calcula¬ 
tions  into  a  cocked  hat,”  suggested  I,  with  glimmer¬ 
ing  faith  in  Shiers  and  his  wife. 

“Don’t  be  a  simpleton,”  bluntly  cried  the  doctor; 
“whatever  the  boy  may  tell  you  will  not  alter  the 
fact  that  this  Salvation  fellow  is  Henry  Toplass. 
Now,  we’d  better  stop  speculating  on  the  subject. 
Unless  something  important  transpires,  we  will  wait 
for  advices  from  England.  Meanwhile,  I  must  get 
Mrs.  Toplass  on  her  feet  and  put  her  mind  into  a 


LITTLE  BOB*S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  FATHER.  1 33 

condition  to  receive  her  husband  with  all  charity 
and  loving  kindness. 

Leaving  the  doctor  to  attend  to  a  score  of 
patients  awaiting  him  in  the  reception  room,  I  went 
to  Halsted  street  to  talk  to  Bob  Shiers.  It  was  not 
likely  that  his  mother  would  allow  him  much  in  the 
house  while  Barton  was  in  a  delirious  condition,  and 
I  wanted  to  meet  him  outside  and  interrogate 
him  cautiously.  I  took  up  a  position  in  a  drug 
store  opposite  the  Shiers  abode  and  watched  for  the 
lad’s  appearance.  In  about  half  an  hour  he  came 
out  of  the  house  and  walked  leisurely  northwards. 

“Hello!  Bob!”  I  said,  overtaking  him,  “where 
are  you  going  and  how’s  your  father  and  mother?” 

“They’re  all  right,  sir,”  replied  the  lad  with  a 
pleased  look  of  recognition.  “We’ve  got  a  sick  man 
in  the  house  and  I’m  taking  a  walk  to  be  out  of  the 
way  for  a  while.” 

“Ah!  that’s  Mr.  Barton;  how  is  he  getting 
along?” 

“He  kept  us  all  awake  last  night,  sir,  shouting 
and  screaming.  He  seems  terribly  afraid  of  some¬ 
thing,  and  mother  prayed  with  him  a  good  deal.  He 
doesn’t  like  father  near  him.  The  doctor  was  in  an 


134  LITTLE  bob’s  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  FATHER. 

hour  ago,  and  says  he’ll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or 
two.” 

“Did  you  know  Mr.  Barton  in  England,  Bob?” 

“No,  sir,  but  I’ve  heard  mother  speak  of  him; 
he  was  a  friend  of  hers  and  she  was  very  sorry  to 
find  him  here  sick  and  without  money.” 

“Your  father  knew  him,  too,  didn’t  he?” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“How  long  are  you  going  to  stop  in  Chicago, 
Bob?” 

“I  don’t  know,  sir;  we  may  be  ordered  away  at 
any  time.  The  Western  commander  may  want 
work  done  in  some  other  place,  and  father  is  always 
ready  to  go  where  the  Lord  calls.” 

The  boy’s  face  beamed  as  he  spoke  of  Captain 
Shiers’ readiness  to  respond  to  the  call  of  duty;  it 
was  apparent  that  he  shared  the  religious  enthusi¬ 
asm  of  his  parents. 

“Do  you  like  traveling.  Bob?” 

“Yes,  sir;  its  nice  to  go  about  and  see  places, 
and  besides  father  says  its  powerful  training  for  the 
young.” 

“Your  father  has  traveled  a  great  deal,  I  believe.” 

“Oh!  my,  yes!  He  was  away  for  seven  or  eight 
years  once,  and  mother  didn’t  like  it  at  all.  It  was 


LITTLE  bob’s  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  FATHER.  I35 

while  we  lived  in  Lancashire,  and  she  used  to  cry  a 
good  deal  and  couldn’t  sleep  at  nights.  She  never 
said  much,  but  often  when  she  thought  I  was  asleep 
she’d  get  out  of  bed  and  walk  the  floor  and  moan 
and  pray  for  him  to  come  back.  She  used  to  read 
the  ‘Pilgrims  Progress’  to  me,  and  say  father  was  on 
a  pilgrimage  and  that  he’d  come  back  when  he’d 
got  rid  of  his  burdensome  pack.” 

“Do  you  remember  when  he  returned?” 

“Oh!  yes,  sir;  we  were  in  Wigan.  He  came  iL 
one  night  at  supper  time,  looking  quite  pale  and 
weary,  and  mother  fell  into  his  arms  and  cried.  I 
cried,  too,  for  mother  told  me  that  he’d  suffered  a 
great  deal,  and  I  must  love  and  be  kind  to  him,  and 
it  pained  me  to  see  him  so  worn-like  and  sickly. 
He  said,  ‘And  this  is  little  Bob?’  and  he  kissed  me 
and  cried  himself  when  he  saw  my  lame  arm.  He 
soon  picked  up  and  said  we’d  never  be  parted  again; 
that  where  he  went  we  should  go;  and,  oh!  we’ve 
been  so  happy  since,  for  mother’s  face  got  round 
and  smooth  again,  and  her  eyes  lost  the  lonesome 
look.  She  never  cries  now,  except  for  joy,  she 
says.” 


136  LITTLE  bob’s  ACCOUNT  OF  ilI3  FATHER. 

This.was  all  the  boy  knew.  It  was  enough,  how¬ 
ever,  to  throw  doubt  on  the  Doctor’s  confident  asser¬ 
tion  that  Shiers  was  Henry  Toplass,  and  submerge 
me  again  into  a  sea  of  bewildering  conjectures. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 

Other  newspaper  duties  kept  me  so  busy  that  I 
had  little  time  even  to  think  of  the  Shiers-Toplass 
mystery  during  the  next  fortnight.  I  heard  occa¬ 
sionally  from  the  Doctor,  who  was  awaiting  news 
from  England  before  deciding  upon  a  course  of 
action.  Mrs.  Toplass  had  recovered  sufficiently 
from  her  illness  to  be  removed  to  her  own  house. 
She  was  nervous  and  irritable,  and  threatened  to 
bring  a  divorce  suit  against  Henry  Toplass,  alias 
John  Shiers,  Dr.  Gillman  had  not  mentioned  the 
last  phase  of  the  case  to  her,  but  Mrs.  Toplass  now 
thoroughly  contemned  the  man  whose  memory  she 
had  so  recently  revered.  It  was  with  the  greatest 
greatest  difficulty  the  unhappy  lady  was  persuaded 
to  postpone  action  until  her  nervous  system  was 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  severe  ordeal  of  the  di¬ 
vorce  court. 

“I  want  to  see  Toplass  clothed  in  his  right  mind 
again,”  said  Dr.  Gillman  during  one  of'  our  brief 
conferences,  ”and  reunited  to  his  wife  and  children. 


BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 


13^ 

We  must  keep  this  affair  out  of  court.  Toplass  is  a 
fine  fellow  at  bottom,  and  ought  not  to  have  his 
misfortunes  paraded  before  the  public.  There  is 
altogether  too  much  dirty  linen  washed  in  the  courts 
for  our  common  good.” 

While  the  affair  was  in  this  quiescent  state,  T  re¬ 
ceived  a  visit  from  the  boy  Shiers  at  the  office  one 
afternoon.  The  little  fellow  was  out  of  breath  when 
he  came  into  the  reporters’  room,  and  I  surmised 
that  he  had  come  post  haste  from  home  with  an 
urgent  message. 

“Mother  would  like  to  see  you  at  once,  sir,”  he 
gasped;  “she  has  something  important  to  tell  you.” 

“What  is  it.  Bob?”  I  asked. 

“I  don’t  know  exactly,  sir,  but  it’s  something 
about  the  lost  man.” 

I  hastily  dispatched  the  work  on  hand  and  hur¬ 
ried  to  the  West  Side.  The  hope  that  I  entertained 
that  Captain  Shiers  had  regained  his  senses  and  re¬ 
vealed  his  identity,  was  dissipated  by  the  eager, 
radiant  face  of  Mrs.  Shiers,  who  said,  on  admitting 
me: 

“I  am  glad  you’ve  come,  Mr.  Burbanks;  we  have 
a  clue  to  the  missing  merchant.” 


BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY, 


139 


She  led  me  into  the  sitting-room,  where  sat  Ned 
Barton,  his  clothes  worn  and  shabby,  and  his  hands 
trembling,  but  with  a  bright  eye  and  clear  complex- 
ion  which  denoted  extraordinary  recuperative  power. 
Mrs.  Shiers  introduced  him  as  an  old  friend. 

“And  very  nearly  a  dead  one.”  said  Barton,  with 
a  smile;  “I  owe  my  life  to  this  kind-hearted  Chris¬ 
tian  woman,  who  rescued  me  from  a  terrible  fate.” 

“Yes,  yes,”  interposed  Mrs.  Shiers,  with  a  depre¬ 
catory  gesture,  as  though  the  tribute  was  not  de¬ 
served:  “we  don’t  want  to  harp  on  that  topic.  Mr. 
Burbanks  knows.” 

“Then  he  knows,”  continued  the  man,  looking 
gratefully,  and  I  thought  a  little  too  tenderly,  at  his 
benefactress,  “how  much  I  am  beholden  to  you. 
There  (turning  to  me  and  speaking  warmly)  is  a 
woman  in  ten  thousand!  She  took  me  from  the 
gutter,  reeking  with  rum  and  in  the  last  sickening 
stage  of  a  debauch,  brought  me  to  her  home  and 
nursed  me  through  the  tremens.  I  was  a  pitiable, 
disgusting  object,  but,  thanks  to  her  care  and  kind¬ 
ness,  I  am  well  and  sober  again,  and  full  of  grati¬ 
tude  to  my  preserver.  How  will  I  ever  be  able  to 
repay  her?” 


140 


BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 


“Do  better  in  the  future,”  said  the  woman, 
kindly;  “that's  the  only  recompense  I  require.  Now, 
tell  this  gentleman  your  story,  Mr.  Barton.” 

But  Mr.  Barton  was  in  no  hurry  to  tell  his  story, 
whatever  it  might  be.  He  was  in  the  full  flush  of 
penitence,  and  it  seemed  to  afford  him  a  morbid 
kind  of  gratification  to  dwell  on  the  deplorable 
state  from  which  he  had  recently  emerged.  He 
uttered  some  fervent  pledges  about  leading  a  better 
life,  and  began  to  dilate  on  the  miseries  imposed  by 
devotion  to  the  flowing  boM. 

As  I  had  not  come  to  the  West  Side  to  listen  to 
temperance  homily,  I  said  curtly: 

“That’s  the  usual  talk  after  a  spree.” 

Mrs.  Shiers  looked  pained  at  this  remark,  but 
Barton  saw  the  point  and  his  face  colored.  He 
stopped  moralizing  about  himself,  and,  after  an 
awkward  pause,  began  to  talk  of  a  subject  more  in¬ 
teresting  to  me.  I  give  his  story  almost  word  for 
word  as  he  told  it: 

“I  understand,”  he  began,  “that  you  are  familiar 
with  the  history  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shiers,  so  I  may 
speak  freely  of  matters  which  otherwise  it  might  be 
policy  to  conceal.  While  I  have  been  an  inmate  of 
this  house  I  have  naturally  heard  something  of  a 


BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 


I4I 

matter  which  has  given  this  lady’s  husband  and  her¬ 
self  no  little  uneasiness.  I  allude  to  the  disappear¬ 
ance  of.this  man  Toplass,  with  whom  Captain  Shiers 
has  been  confounded,  much  to  his  annoyance.  To 
make  my  story  plain,  I  must  go  back  a  few  years, 
when  I  was  a  sober,  industrious  compositor,  holding 
cases  on  the  South  Durham  Mercury^  a  journal  pub¬ 
lished  at  Hartpond.  I  knew  Captain  Shiers  and 
Mrs.  Shiers  well,  and  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  their 
house.  For  some  unaccountable  reason  he  miscon¬ 
strued  my  friendship  for  his  wife,  whom  I  knew 
some  years  before  in  Middlesex,  and  became  ex¬ 
ceedingly  jealous  of  me,  and  one  night  after  a  heavy 
bout  of  drinking,  he  went  home  swearing  to  have 
my  life,  and  in  a  sudden  fury  stabbed  little  Bob  in 
the  left  shoulder.  Captain  Shiers  was  arrested,  and 
next  morning  fell  to  the  floor  of  the  court-room  in  a 
fit.  When  he  came  to  he  was  a  raving  lunatic  and 
was  sent  to  the  asylum. 

“It  was  a  great  shock  to  me  when  I  learned  that 
Mr.  Shiers  imagined  that  he  was  plunging  the  knife 
into  my  body  when  he  came  so  near  killing  little 
Bob.  The  townsfolk  began  to  chaff  me  about  it; 
unfortunately  I  was  more  sensitive  than  I  am  now, 
and  the  constant  gibing  drove  me  to  seek  solace 


142  BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 

and  comfort  in  the  flowing  bowl.  I  rapidly  de¬ 
veloped  a  taste  for  liquor,  and  soon  degenerated  in¬ 
to  a  tramp  printer.  I  drifted  to  the  United  States, 
and  a  little  over  five  years  ago  came  to  Chicago  and 
began  ‘subbing’  on  one  of  the  morning  papers.  I  was 
drinking  in  a  groggery  near  the  Union  Depot  after 
quitting  work  on  Sunday  m.orning.  Sept.  22,  187 — . 
In  the  saloon,  seated  at  a  table  by  himself,  was  a 
man  half  seas  over.  I  did  not  pay  much  attention 
to  him  until  he  called  and  asked  me  to  join  him. 
Nothing  loth,  for  my  funds  were  low,  I  answered, 
‘All  right,  pardner;  I’m  with  you,’  and  then  looking 
at  the  convivial  gentleman  I  started  back  in  amaze¬ 
ment,  crying:  ‘Why,  Shiers,  where  did  you  spring 
from?’  He  was  the  exact  counterpart  of  this  lady’s 
husband  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  several  years. 
The  man  regarded  me  with  surprise,  and  said:  ‘My 
friend,  the  whiskey’s  affecting  your  brain;  taper  off, 
or  you  will  see  snakes.’  ‘Snakes  be  blowed,’  said  I, 
‘you  are  Jack  Shiers  of  Hartpond,  aren’t  you?  ‘No,’ 
said  he,  laughing,  ‘I  haven’t  the  pleasure  of  the 
gentleman’s  acquaintance,  either.  My  name’s 
Henry  Toplass,  of  South  Water  street.’  Well,  it’s 
the  most  singular  likeness  I  ever  saw.  You  are 
joking — aren’t  you  Shiers?’  The  man  got  angry 


BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 


143 


and  cried,  ‘I  asked  you  to  take  a  drink,  but  that’s 
no  reason  why  you  should  guy  me  and  make  a  fool 
of  yourself.’  I  apologized,  and  sat  drinking  with 
him  for  quite  a  while.  He  was  very  sociable  and 
got  talking  about  himself,  and  by  and  by  he  men¬ 
tioned  Hartpond  as  a  place  where  he’d  once  lived 
‘I  knew  it,’  I  cried;  you’ve  been  up  to  some  monkey 
tricks  and  changed  your  name.’  ‘What  do  you 
mean,  you  confounded  fool?’  he  said,  clinching  his 
fist  and  looking  terribly  angry:  ‘I  tell  you  my 
name’s  Toplass,  and  has  been  Toplass  since  I  was 
born.’  ‘Well,  it’s  funny,  but  John  Shiers’  grand¬ 
father  was  Tommy  Toplass  ,of  Hartpond.’  ‘Tommy 
Toplass,’  he  cried,  ‘why  that’s  my  father’s  name.’ 
‘Then  you’re  Shiers’  uncle,  said  I  rising  and  shaking 
him  by  the  hand,  ‘and  you  might  be  his  twin  broth¬ 
er.’  Well,  we  got  talking  about  the  old  country, 
pouring  whiskey  down  every  few  minutes  in  token 
of  friendship  and  finally  I  got  as  full  as  a  tick  and 
was  fired  out  of  the  place  bodily  by  a  brute  of  a 
bartender.  I  have  a  vague  recollection  of  the  'man 
saying  he  was  going  east  and  might  probably  take 
a  trip  to  England.  That  is  all,  sir,  but  I  haven’t 
the  least  doubt  that  the  man  I  was  fuddling  with 
was  no  other  person  than  the  missing  merchant.” 


144  BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 

“Why  didn’t  you  tell  this  story  when  the  papers 
were  so  full  of  the  man’s  disappearance?”  I  asked, 
suspecting  that  it  was  a  deliberare  concoction  to 
help  Shiers  out  of  a  serious  dilemma. 

“I  saw  nothing  about  the  case,”  was  the  man’s 
reply. 

“What!”  cried  I,  in  astonishment,  “you  a  news¬ 
paper  compositor  and  knew  nothing  of  a  case  of 
mysterious  disappearance  about  which  columns 
were  printed  daily  for  over  a  week?” 

“It’s  a  fact,  sir.  I  told  you  I  got  full  and  was 
short  of  money.  I  was  thrown  into  a  cell  for  drunk¬ 
enness,  and  on  Monday  morning  was  sent  to  the 
Bridwell  for  thirty  days.  You  know  there  is  not 
much  chance  for  even  a  printer  to  keep  track  of  the 
news  at  Colonel  Felton’s  establishment.” 

This  explanation  was  a  plausible  one.  The 
record  of  convictions  and  the  Bridewell  roster  could 
be  relied  upon  to  corroborate  or  disprove  this  part 
of  Barton’s  story. 

“How  do  you  fix  the  date  so  positively?”  I 
queried. 

“Because  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  been 
arrested,”  answered  Barton,  “and  I  marked  it  as  a 
red-letter  day  in  my  mental  calendar.” 


BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 


*45 


“Have  you  told  Captain  Shiers  this?” 

“No,  sir;  I  only  recalled  the  circumstance  this 
morning,  and,  owing  to  his  melancholy  condition, 
I  thought  it  best  to  speak  first  to  Mrs.  Shiers.” 

“Isn’t  Captain  Shiers  well?” 

“He  has  been  down-spirited  since — since  that 
day,”  said  Mrs.  Shiers,  sighing.  “He  still  works 
hard  and  tries  to  be  cheerful;  but  he  has  fits  of 
melancholy,  during  which  he  keeps  muttering  that 
trouble  is  clustering  about  us.  Perhaps  he  will  re¬ 
gain  his  spirits  when  he  hears  this  news  about  his 
uncle.  Don’t  you  think  the  poor  lady  should  be 
told?” 

“She  is  under  the  doctor’s  care,”  I  answered,  “I 
will  consult  him  about  the  matter.  By  the  way, 
Mr.  Barton,  did  you  notice  whether  this  Mr.  Toplass 
had  a  scar  on  his  forehead?” 

“No,  sir;  the  man  had  his  hat  on  while  I  was  with 
him.” 

“Perhaps,”  said  I  to  Mrs.  Shiers,  “it  would  be  as 
well  to  say  nothing  to  your  husband  about  this  new 
evidence  at  present.  If  he  is  depressed  or  despon¬ 
dent,  it  may  only  aggravate  his  condition.  Besides, 

important  as  Mr.  Barton’s  story  is  as  a  connecting 
lOG 


146 


BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 


link,  it  throws  no  light  on  the  whereabouts  or  fate 
of  Toplass,” 

“It  shall  be  just  as  you  say,  sir;”  she  responded 
mournfully,  “but  I  do  hope  the  mystery  will  be 
cleared  up  soon,  for  my  husband  has  not  been  him¬ 
self  since  that  painful  interview.” 

“What  are  your  plans,  sir?”  queried  I  of  Barton. 

“I  am  going  to  work  to-night,  Mr.  Burbanks,” 
he  replied,  “and  hope  soon  to  convince  you  that 
my  protestations  of  reform  are  founded  on  some¬ 
thing  more  substantial  than  the  remorse  which 
usually  follows  a  debauch.” 

“Do  you  intend  to  remain  here?” 

“I  am  afraid  it  will  not  be  convenient,  although 
(looking  at  Mrs.  Shiers  tenderly  again)  I  should  like 
to  be  under  the  restraining  and  elevating  influence 
of  my  friends  a  little  longer.” 

“Do  not  leave  us  until  you  are  strong  in  the  new 
life,”  said  the  woman  gently,  “we  will  try  and  make 
you  comfortable.” 

“Oh!  no,”  said  Barton  firmly,  but  regretfully, 
“my  presence,  now  that  my  physical  health  is  re¬ 
stored,  may  prove  irksome  to  Captain  Shiers.  I 
shall  take  a  room  in  the  neighborhood.” 


BARTON  TELLS  HIS  STORY. 


U7 


As  I  bade  them  good  afternoon,  I  could  not 
help  recalling  the  tender  glances  Barton  cast  tim¬ 
orously  upon  his  benefactress,  and  thinking  that  he 
was  tempting  fate  by  remaiming  near  the  man  who, 
when  told  he  was  in  the  sitting-room  sick,  gloomily 
remarked: 

“Trouble  is  clutherin*  roondl” 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

JEALOUSY  AT  WORK. 

Now,  if  Barton’s  story  were  true,  it  added 
strength  to  the  old  theory  that  Toplass  was  Shiers’ 
uncle.  An  inspection  of  the  records  of  the  Armory 
Police  Court  established  the  fact  that  the  dissipated 
compositor  was  tried  on  a  charge  of  drunk  and 
disorderly  Sept.  23,  187-,  and  sent  to  the 

Bridwell  for  thirty  days.  The  files  of  the  daily 
papers  showed  that  Toplass  disappeared  on  Sept. 
21.  These  coincidences  did  not  disturb  Dr.  Gill- 
man  a  whit.  His  comment  was: 

“Bosh!  The  only  thing  proved  is  that  Barton 
was  on  a  spree,  and  that  he  has  had  one  of  those 
hallucinations  common  to  a  person  saturated  with 
alcohol.  Toplass  was  not  a  drinking  man,  and  the 
idea  of  his  boozing  in  a  low  resort,  while  his  wife 
and  children  were  anxiously  awaiting  him  at  home 
is  absurd.  Then  you  must  remember  the  hand¬ 
writing  and  the  scar.  Family  resemblances  do  not 
extend  to  wounds  or  peculiarities  in  penman 
ship.  Stop  puzzling  your  brain  about  this  case  until 
we  hear  from  the  other  side.” 


JEALOUSY  AT  WORK. 


149 


Three  days  afterward  I  was  surprised  by  a  visit 
from  Captain  Shiers.  The  man  was  pale  and  hag¬ 
gard,  and  his  eyes  had  that  haunted,  troubled  look  I 
had  noticed  during  the  interview  with  Mrs.  Top- 
lass. 

“Burbanks,”  he  said,  in  a  strained  voice,  “I’ve 
nobbut  known  thee  a  week  or  so,  but  thou  seems 
like  an  owd  friend,  and  I  want  to  talk  seriously  wi’ 
thee.  I’m  welly  crazy,  lad.” 

“Why,  what’s  the  matter?”  queried  I,  a  little 
alarmed  by  his  manner,  which  betokened  a  mind  ill 
at  ease. 

“I’m  afraid  I’m  a  bit  muddled  i’  my  yed,”  was 
his  moody  answer.  “I’ve  prayed,  and  prayed,  and 
prayed,  but  th’  owd  laight  divvent  dawn,  my  hairt 
aches  sairly,  and  there  seams  to  be  an  oneasy,  rist- 
less  divvil  in  my  brist.  Thou  knows  my  story;  thou 
knows  hoo  I  wor  cursed  wi,  drink  until  a  murderin’ 
spirit  took  howd  of  me  and  browt  me  ti’  th’  brink 
o’th’  gallows.  Lad,  I  feel  I’m  goin’  wrang  again!” 

“I  trust  not,  Captain,”  said  I  cheerily,  “you’ve 
been  annoyed  by  that  unfortunate  error  of  Mrs. 
Toplass,  but  that  will  soon  pass  away.” 

“Naw,  lad,”  said  he,  sighing  heavily;  “it  beant 
that.  I  know  the  poor  lady  will  coom  to  her  senses 


JEALOUSY  AT  WORK. 


150 

sune.  It*s  summat  else;  summat  that  presses  haard 
here  (placing  his  hand  to  his  breast  and  sinking  his 
voice  to  a  hoarse  whisper);  summat  that  stifles  me 
and  mak’s  life  a  weary  burden  I’d  fain  lay  doon. 
Eh!  lad,  I’m  worritted  beyond  endurance.  Did 
thou  ivver  hev  a  presintiment — a  heavy,  awful  feelin’ 
o’  cornin’  ill?” 

“Yes,”  I  replied,  “but  it’s  no  use  paying  attention 
to  such  feelings.” 

“Mebbe  not,  lad;  mebbe  it’s  nowt  but  th*  liver  in 
ordinary  caases.  But  mine  beant  an  ordinary  caase. 
and  it’sth’  ownly  time  that  prayer  didn’t  lift  me  oot  o’ 
th*  gloom.  It’s  serious,  mon,  I  assure  thee,  and  I’m 
afraid  I’ll  go  mad.  I’m  coom  to  ease  my  maind  to 
thee,  lad;  happen  thou  may  help  to  lift  the  load.” 

“I’m  at  your  service.  Captain,  if  I  can  do  any¬ 
thing  to  help  you.” 

“That’s  spokken  like  a  mon,”  he  cried.  His  face 
lighted  up,  but  darkened  in  a  moment  as  he  con¬ 
tinued:  “thou  knows  that  chap.  Barton, — it’s  him 
that  worrits  me;  its  him  that’s  put  this  load  of  lead 
on  my  hairt;  him  that’s  draivin’  me  well  nigh  to  de¬ 
spair.” 

“Why,  what  has  Barton  been  doing?”  I  asked  in 
amazement. 


JEALOUSY  AT  WORK. 


“He’s  crossed  my  path  again,”  exclaimed  Shiers 
excitedly;  “he’s  my  evil  genius,  domn  him.  Lord, 
forgie  me,  but  I  cannot  help  it.” 

The  man  looked  terrified  as  the  imprecation  es¬ 
caped  his  lips. 

“It’s  awful  that  I  should  forgeet  mysen  in  this 
waay,”  he  went  on;  “but  thowts  o’  that  mon  draive 
ivvery  good  impulse  fram  my  hairt.  Curse  him,  I 
maun,  for  he’s  carryin’  on  wi’  Lizzie  as  he  did  be¬ 
fore!” 

“Carrying  on  with  your  wife,”  exclaimed  I. 

“Yes,  he’s  abawt  her  all  th’  taime.  He  whines 
and  smailes  and  talks  abawt  owd  times;  he  lukes  at 
her  wi’  eyes  of  love;  he’s  castin’  a  spell  ower  the 
poor  lass.  Curse  him!  he’s  draivin’  me  fram  graace, 
for  th*  fires  of  hell  raag  in  my  bosom  when  I  think 
on’t.” 

The  secret  was  out  at  last.  The  old  jealousy  had 
returned,  and  Captain  Shiers  was  distracted  with 
grief.  Here  was  additional  proof  of  the  man’s  hon¬ 
esty,  but  it  was  not  of  that  I  thought  when  I  begged 
him  to  be  calm. 

“You  must  be  mistaken,”  I  said.  “Barton  can¬ 
not  be  base  enough  to  abuse  your  hospitality.” 


152 


JEALOUSY  AT  WORK. 


‘*J’m  not  mistakken,”  he  cried  in  a  trembling 
voice;  “I  knaw  th*  signs.  Lizzie  is  faightin’  agin  it 
braavely,  but  th’  fellow’s  subtle,  lad,  and  his  smooth, 
oily  waays  are  underminin’  th’  foontain  o’  my 
peace.” 

“Pardon  me,  I  cannot  think  your  wife  encour¬ 
ages  Barton  in  any  way,  Captain.” 

“I’m  glad  thou  thinks  so,  lad,”  he  said  gloomily. 
“I’d  fain  believe  in  her  trooth  and  steadfastness,  but 
they  whisper  t’gither  and  they  luke  at  yane  anither 
wi’  queer  tell-tale  eyes.  Mon,  it’s  eatin’  into  my 
hairt  like  a  canker;  it’s  robbin’  me  of  all  earthly 
peace,  and  it’s  shaakin’  my  faith  in  God.  I’m  not 

th’  saam  chap  I  wor.  Three  weeks  ago  I  could  luke 

> 

th*  world  i’  th’  faace  loike  an  honest  mon;  but  noo 
I’m  a  shiverin’  quaakin’  wretch,  wi’  blood  in  my 
eyes  and  th’  divvil  in  my  hairt.” 

“Why  not  forbid  Barton  your  house?” 

“What  good ’d  that  do?  They’d  meet  ootside. 
It’s  haard,  but  happen  it’s  best  to  see  what’s  goin’ 
on. 

I  tried  to  reason  with  the  man.  I  told  him  that 
Mrs.  Shiers  was  an  honest.  God-fearing  woman, 
whose  heart  was  loyal  to  her  husband  and  her  boy. 


JEALOUSY  AT  WORK. 


153 


‘‘Whatever  evil  may  be  in  Barton’s  mind,  Cap¬ 
tain,”  said  I  warmly,  “Mrs.  Shiers  is  unconscious  of 
it.  She  has  treated  him  kindly  because  of  his  des¬ 
perate  condition.  You,  of  all  men,  must  know  that 
she  has  acted  the  part  of  a  gentle,  trustful  Christian 
woman,  and  that  she  is  incapable  of  wrong  even  in 
thought.  Such  suspicions  are  unworthy  of  you.  Re¬ 
member  how  terribly  you  suffered  for  your  mad 
jealousy  in  the  past.  Trust  your  wife,  and  tell  Bar¬ 
ton  his  presence  is  distasteful  to  you.” 

This  appeal  to  the  man’s  better  nature  had  a 
good  effect.  He  grasped  my  hand  and  said  chok¬ 
ingly: 

“Thou’s  reet,  lad;  I’m  glad  I  spoke  to  thee.  I 
feel  better  than  I’ve  felt  since  that  viper  cam  into 
my  hoose.  Of  coorse,  Lizzie’s  true  blue,  I  owt  to 
hev  known  that,  but  jealousy  is  a  bad  coompanion, 
lad;  it  gnaws  at  yane’s  vitals  and  poisons  holy  love. 
I  wor  a  villian  to  doubt  her.  As  for  him,  he  maun 
keep  oot  of  my  waay,  or  mebbe  I’ll - ” 

He  made  a  threatening  movement  with  his 
clinched  fist,  but  suddenly  dropped  his  arm  with  a 
guilty,  troubled  expression,  and  said  in  a  subdued 
tone: 


^54 


JEALOUSY  AT  WORK. 


“Eh,  but  Tm  sadly  oot  of  sorts.  This  trouble 
hes  changed  me,  lad.  I  maun  ask  for  forgiveness 
and  think  of  my  waark.  God  help  me!  I  wor  in  a 
bad  strait  again!  To  think  of  me  doubtin’  my  oan 
lass  i’  that  waay!” 

The  change  was  wonderful.  He  entered  the 
office  with  gloom  and  wretchedness  plainly  written 
on  his  face.  When  he  shook  my  hands  on  depart¬ 
ing,  hope  and  love  and  manly  resolution  shown 
from  his  features;  his  step  was  firm  and  confident, 
and  there  was  a  cheerful  ring  in  his  sturdy  voice. 

He  had  gone  but  a  few  moments  when  Dr.  Gill- 
man  strode  into  the  reporter’s  room. 

“Hello,  Burbanks!”  he  cried,  have  news  for 
you.” 

“Well,”  responded  I,  “impart.” 

“I’ve  heard  from  England.” 

“Well?” 

“I  was  mistaken,”  he  said  regretfully,  “our  hero 
is  not  Henry  Toplass;  he  is  Captain  Jphn  Shiers 
after  all!” 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION. 

“Then  the  man’s  story  is  correct,”  I  cried, 
pleased  to  think  again  that  Shiers  was  neither  an 
impostor  nor  a  lunatic;  “why  should  we  have 
doubted  it?  Honesty  and  manliness  speak  from 
every  feature  of  his  face;  truthfulness  and  probity 
ring  in  his  voice.  And  his  wife,  with  her  calm, 
saintlike  ways,  is  not  a  party  to  false  pretenses  and 
fraud.  And  Mrs.  Toplass,  unfortunate  and  unhappy 
though  she  be,  gains  a  worthy  nephew  instead  of 
finding  a  recreant  spouse.  And  your  complicated 
case  of  ‘unconscious  cerebration’  is  nothing  but  the 
product  of  a  heated  imagination!” 

Dr.  Gillman  smiled  grimly  at  this  outburst. 

“Well,”  said  he,  slowly,  and  with  a  sarcastic  in¬ 
flection  which  was  intended  to  be  very  cutting,  “if 
you  are  not  afflicted  with  acute  cerebral  meningitis, 
I  will  never  diagnose  another  case  of  brain  disease. 
What  have  I  said  to  develop  such  a  disastrous  mal¬ 
ady?  My  boy,  it  pains  me  to  witness  these  symp¬ 
toms  of  active,  galloping,  rabid  degeneration  in  one 
SO  young.” 


156 


ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION. 


“Why,  your  whole  theory  has  collapsed,”  I  said, 
warmly,  not  taking  kindly  to  his  badinage;  “I  knew 
it  would.” 

“Of  course,”  responded  the  Doctor,  in  the  same 
cynical  tone,  “you  knew  it  all  the  time.  Now  let 
me  tell  you  something  you  didn’t  know.  Although 
John  Shiers,  late  of  Hartpond,  is  Captain  John 
Shiers,  of  the  Salvation  Army,  Mrs.  Toplass  never 
had  a  husband  unless  he  be  the  man.” 

“Now,  you  are  mixing  things  again  Doctor,” 
cried  I;  “we’ve  had  enough  of  mystification.  Let’s 
get  down  to  plain  facts,  if  there  are  any  facts  in 
this  perplexing  case.” 

“Listen  to  this,  my  boy,”  said  the  Doctor,  quietly, 
“and  let  your  soul  be  instructed.” 

He  produced  a  roll  of  foreign  letter  paper  and 
read  as  follows. 

Sedgefield  Asylum,  Durham,  July  12,  188- 
Dr.  Alfred  Gillman,  State  Street,  Chicago, 
III.,  U.  S.  A.  Dear  Sir: — Your  cablegram  of  in¬ 
quiry  concerning  John  Shiers,  a  former  inmate  of 
this  institution,  was  duly  received,  and  in  reply  I 
hasten  to  submit  the  following  statement: 

Shiers  was  sent  here  on  a  commitment  by  the 
Hartpond  magistrates  thirteen  years  ago  this  month. 


ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION,  1 57 

He  was  suffering  from  acute  mania  superinduced  by 
alcoholic  excesses.  The  attack  came  on  him  in  the 
court  room,  where  he  was  being  tried  for  the 
attempted  murder  of  his  child.  For  several  weeks 
after  he  was  admitted  the  patient  was  extremely 
violent.  He  would  be  seized  by  furious  paroxysms, 
during  which  he  frequently  attempted  to  kill  his 
attendants.  We  had  to  apply  the  strait  waistcoat 
and  place  him  in  a  padded  room.  These  paroxysms 
would  be  followed  by  great  physical  exhaustion, 

f 

when  the  patient  had  fits  of  weeping  and  cried 
piteously  for  his  wife  and  child.  Under  careful 
treatment  the  violent  outbreaks  ceased,  and  in  the 
course  of  six  months  the  patient  became  one  of  the 
most  docile  and  tractable  inmates  of  the  asylum. 

But  this  change  was  attended  by  a  curious,  but 
by  no  means  uncommon  form  of  mild  insanity. 
Shiers’  past  seemed  wholly  obliterated  from  his 
mind;  indeed,  he  denied  that  his  name  was  Shiers, 
and  persisted  in  calling  himself  Henry  Toplass. 
He  assumed  the  personality  of  an  uncle  of  that 
name,  who,  we  learned  upon  investigation,  was  lost 
at  sea  several  years  previous  to  the  admission  of 
Shiers  into  the  asylum.  The  change  manifested 
itself  in  minute  particulars.  Shiers  formerly  spoke 


158  ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION. 


a  broad  North-country  dialect,  but  his  language  be¬ 
came  refined  and  he  gave  indications  of  an  educa¬ 
tion  far  superior  to  his  class.  He  began  to  read 
omnivorously,  books  of  travel  being  his  favorite 
pabulum.  So  thoroughly  imbued  was  he  with  his 
new  character  that  he  would  indignantly  retire  to 
his  room  if  the  attendants  or  any  of  the  patients 
called  him  by  any  other  name  than  Toplass.  A 
scar  that  he  received  while  being  rescued  from  a 
shipwreck  at  Hartpond  when  a  boy,  he  now  claimed 
was  caused  by  a  falling  block  when  the  Honduras, 
the  ship  in  which  his  uncle  sailed  on  his  last  voyage, 
foundered  in  the  Atlantic.  He  also  believed  that 
he  escaped  the  general  fate  of  the  crew  by  jumping 
into  a  small  boat,  in  which  he  was  washed  about  for 
several  days  before  being  rescued  by  a  Norwegian 
vessel  and  landed  at  some  port  in  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  Nothing  could  shake  the  man’s  strange 
delusion  that  he  was  Henry  Toplass,  instead  of 
John  Shiers,  and  it  ended  by  his  being  humored  to 
the  top  of  his  bent. 

After  his  malady  took  this  mild  form,  Shiers  was 
allowed  the  freedom  of  the  grounds,  a  privilege 
which  he  greatly  enjoyed.  He  became  cheerful  and 
complacent,  and,  but  for  the  hallucination  referred 


ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION.  1 59 

to,  was  in  every  respect  mentally  and  physically 
sound.  Indeed,  in  his  new  character,  he  developed 
traits  diametrically  opposed  to  the  characteristics 
of  his  former  life,  and  was  an  unusually  attractive 
and  charming  man  of  quiet,  genial  habits,  and 
pleasing  deportment. 

One  day,  after  being  with  us  over  twelve  months, 
he  disappeared.  We  searched  everywhere  for  him, 
in  vain.  The  most  diligent  hue  and  cry  failed  to 
bring  information  of  the  man’s  whereabouts  or  fate. 
He  dropped  as  completely  out  of  sight  as  if  the 
earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  him  up.  No  one 
came  to  visit  him  after  he  had  been  in  the  asylum  a 
few  months.  His  wife  and  child  had  removed  to 
Lancashire,  and  his  grandparents,  his  only  relatives 
hereabouts,  were  dead.  Mrs.  Shiers  wrote  fre¬ 
quently,  inquiring  about  her  husband’s  condition, 
after  his  disappearance,  but  remembering  the  homi¬ 
cidal  tendency  of  the  man  in  his  former  state,  and 
not  wishing  to  alarm  the  woman  unnecessarily,  we 
replied  briefly  that  he  was  still  under  our  care  and ' 
progressing  as  well  as  could  be  expected. 

But  the  most  curious  part  of  this  interesting  case 
is  to  follow.  On  August  25,  187-,  nearly  eight  years 
after  he  disappeared,  one  of  the  attendants  found 


l6o  ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION. 

Shiers  walking  unconcernedly  about  the  grounds. 
The  man  did  not  appear  to  think  anything  strange 
had  happened,  but  he  at  once  repudiated  the  name 
of  Toplass,  by  which,  remembering  the  peculiar 
form  of  his  insanity,  the  attendant  addressed  him. 
“What’s  th’  good  o’  tha  makkin*  fun  ov  me?”  he 
said;  “tha  knows  as  well  as  aw  do  that  aw’m  Jack 
Shiers,  of  Hartpond.”  He  spoke  in  his  native  dia¬ 
lect  and  his  manner  indicated  that  he  had  almost 
entirely  recovered  his  reason.  He  was  brought  into 
the  asylum  and  I  questioned  him  closely  as  to  his 
movements  since  he  left.  “What  does  tha  mean?” 
he  cried.  “Aw’ve  nobbut  been  takkin’  a  bit  ov  a 
stroll.  Doan’t  fule  wi’  me.”  The  most  searching 
cross-examination  failed  to  show  that  the  patient 
had  any  recollection  of  leaving  the  institution  and 
being  absent  nearly  eight  years.  His  mind  was  a 
perfect  blank  in  that  respect;  he  imagined  that  he 
had  merely  gone  out  for  a  walk  after  dinner  and  re¬ 
turned  with  the  attendant  the  same  evening. 

There  was  circumstantial  evidence  that  he  had 
been  in  the  United  States.  His  clothes  were  of  an 
American  pattern,  the  coat  bearing  the  tag  of  a 
Chicago  tailor  named  O’Connell.  He  had  no  money 
in  his  pockets,  but  we  subsequently  found  a  $50 


ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION.  l6l 

greenback  sewed  up  in  the  lining  of  his  waistcoat. 
He  was  surprised  when  we  showed  him  this.  The 
case  attracted  the  attention  of  all  the  medical  men 
in  the  neighborhood.  Every  conceivable  method 
of  testing  the  man’s  memory  was  tried,  but  he  per¬ 
sisted  so  strenuously  as  to  the  short  duration  of  his 
“walk,”  that  the  experiments  were  relinquished. 

The  man’s  mental  condition  improved  rapidly, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  after  his  return  he  was  dis¬ 
charged,  perfectly  restored  in  body  and  mind. 

His  case  was  regarded  as  a  remarkable  one,  and 
we  kept  posted  on  the  man’s  movements  after  leav¬ 
ing  the  asylum,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  he 
would  unconsciously  afford  a  clue  to  the  missing 
chapters  of  the  period  of  his  insanity.  He  went  at 
once  to  Wigan,  in  Lancashire,  and  lived  there  for 
awhile  with  his  wife  and  child.  He  developed  a  re¬ 
ligious  sentiment  and  became  an  active  member  of 
the  Salvation  Army.  During  the  meetings  of  this 
curious  sect  he  frequently  referred  to  his  past, 
speaking  openly  of  his  insanity,  and  attributing  it 
to  sin  brought  on  by  drunkenness;  but  never  a  hint 
did  he  give  to  clear  up  the  mysterious  void  in  his 

existence. 

IIG 


i62 


ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION. 


There  was  another  curious  feature  in  this  pa¬ 
tient’s  case.  He  had  been  a  cornet  player  in  the 
Hartpond  Rifle  Band,  and  when  he  became  quiet 
?nd  tractable  we  endeavored  to  get  him  to  play  in 
the  asylum  brass  band^  The  man  evinced  great 
pleasure  in  music,  and  said  he  was  anxious  to  be¬ 
come  a  musician,  but  when  handed  a  cornet  he  made 
as  grotesque  a  figure  and  produced  as  discordant 
sounds  as  one  who  essayed  the  instrument  for  the 
first  time.  Notwithstanding  the  efforts  of  the  in¬ 
structor,  who  argued  that  once  learned  the  manipu¬ 
lation  of  a  horn  could  never  be  forgotten,  Shiers 
could  not  be  taught  to  play  an  instrument  on  which 
he  was  a  skilled  performer  prior  to  becoming  in¬ 
sane.  His  musical  skill  returned  after  his  discharge 
from  the  asylum,  since  we  were  informed  that  he 
led  the  Salvation  services  with  the  cornet.  The 
man  had  a  wonderful  imitative  faculty  while  he  was 
under  treatment  before  his  disappearance;  one  of 
his  amusements  was  the  imitation  of  the  notes  of  a 
cornet  with  his  mouth,  which  he  did  with  a  surpris¬ 
ing  degree  of  accuracy  and  musical  taste. 

This  is,  in  brief,  all  I  recall  about  this  remark¬ 
able  patient.  Shiers  is  in  the  United  States,  I  un¬ 
derstand,  on  an  evangelizing  mission,  and  1  have  no 


another  curious  complication.  163 

reason  to  doubt  the  man  mentioned  in  your  dispatch 
is  he.  The  scar  on  his  forehead  is  peculiar  in  the 
respect  that  the  wound  was  imperfectly  stitched 
and  left  a  depression  in  the  centre.  1  have  the 
honor  to  be  you  obedient  servant, 

Reginald  Kneebone 

Medical  Superintendent. 

“What  conclusion  do  you  draw  from  this  inter¬ 
esting  document?”  I  asked  the  Doctor. 

“Only  one  conclusion  can  be  drawn,”  said  Dr. 
Gillman  moodily,  “and  that  a  very  lamentable  one. 
In  some  way  or  other  Shiers  drifted  to  the  United 
States,  and  went  into  business  here  while  laboring 
under  the  insane  delusion  that  he  was  Henry  Top- 
lass.  He  married  and  accumulated  wealth,  and 
then  in  some  unaccouhtable  way  disappeared,  leav¬ 
ing  his  wife  and  children  to  mourn  him  as  dead. 
It’s  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff  after  reading  that  letter. 
O’Connell  was  Toplass*  tailor,  and  it  was  a  fad  of  his 
to  keep  a  ^50  note  concealed  about  his  clothes. 
I’ve  heard  him  mention  it  a  hundred  times;  it  was 
the  only  idioscrasy  I  ever  noticed  about  him.  To 
think  that  Henry  Toplass,  the  sharp,  energetic 
Chicago  merchant,  the  loving  husband  and  devoted 
father,  the  kind  and  considerate  friend,  should  be 


164  ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION. 

no  other  than  a  Yorkshire  watchmaker,  whose  mind 
was  turned  by  drink!  it’s  enough  to  make  one’s 
blood  curdle  to  think  of  it.” 

“But  may  there  not  be  some  mistake,  Doctor? 
Is  it  possible  that  a  man  could  assume  a  separate 
personality  and  maintain  it  intact  for  several  years, 
and  then  suddenly  return  to  his  old  ways  and 
habits?” 

“Nothing  is  impossible  to  the  insane,”  responded 
the  Doctor,  in  the  same  moody  tone.  “That  letter 
leaves  not  the  slightest  loophole  to  escape  the 
terrible  conclusion  that  Mrs.  Toplass  was  the  wife 
of  an  absconding  lunatic.  Every  item  of  Toplass’ 
imaginary  career  fits  Shiers’  case,  even  to  the  imitat¬ 
ing  of  the  notes  of  a  cornet,  which,  you  will  remem¬ 
ber,  caused  the  inspirational  recognition  of  the  man, 
despite  his  native  coarseness  and  uncouth  tongue.” 

“How  could  Shiers  or  Toplass  get  out  of  Chicago 
and  travel  to  Europe  without  leaving  some  clue  for 
expert  detectives  to  follow?” 

“Detectives  be  hanged!”  cried  Dr.  Gillman,  im¬ 
patiently.  “When  did  a  Chicago  detective  ever  do 
anything  but  guzzle  whiskey  and  pocket  fees  for 
criminal  incompetency?  Detectives  are  a  pack  of 
professional  nincompoops  who  cover  their  ignorance 


ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION.  l6$ 

and  venality  by  a  pyramid  of  egregious  egotism 
and  stupid  pretension.  Don’t  talk  about  detectives 
in  a  case  requiring  common  sense  and  ordinary 
capacity  for  investigation.  If  you  literary  fellows 
would  stop  exploiting  those  inflated  ignoramuses 
they  would  soon  lack  an  office  peg  on  which  to 
hang  their  No.  lO  hats.” 

Having  vented  his  spleen  on  the  poor  detectives, 
Dr.  Gillman  continued: 

“There  was  a  clue,  and  a  good  clue,  to  the  move¬ 
ments  of  Toplass  after  leaving  his  warehouse,  and 
that  dissipated  compositor,  who  was  railroaded  to 
the  Bridewell,  stumbled  across  it.” 

“Then  you  believe  now  that  Toplass  was  drink¬ 
ing  in  the  saloon  near  the  Union  Depot?” 

“Yes,  that  conclusion  is  forced  upon  me  now. 
Shiers  as  Toplass  was  not  a  drinking  man,  as  I  told 
you  before,  but  it  is  reasonable  to  believe,  in  the 
light  of  Dr.  Kneebone’s  revelations,  that  an  uncon¬ 
trollable  craving  for  liquor  preceded  the  dawnings 
of  sanity.  Instances  are  on  record  where  an  impul¬ 
sion  to  old  habits  was  the  first  indication  of  a  return 
to  mental  health.  The  conversation  with  Barton 
must  have  aroused  a  train  of  ideas,  vague  and  in¬ 
distinct  perhaps,  but  accumulating  strength  as  the 


i66 


ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMi'i.iCATION. 


blurred  page  of  memory  slowly  unrolled,  which 
perplexed  and  bewildered  the  man  and  finally  im¬ 
pelled  him  to  flight.  While  he  talked  with  the 
printer  Shiers  hinted  that  he  might  take  a  trip  to 
England  to  visit  his  father,  Tommy  Toplass.  He 
undoubtedly  took  a  morning  train  East,  and  in  a 
dazed  condition  sailed  for  Europe.  Some  mysteri¬ 
ous  influence  drew  him  to  the  asylum,  and  his  reason 
returned  like  a  flash  while  he  wandered  through  the 
grounds.  That  is  the  only  explanation  I  can  give. 
One  cannot  account  for  the  operations  of  a  diseased 
brain,  and  unless  some  shock  unsettles  the  man’s 
mind  again  and  it  reverts  to  its  former  channel,  we 
may  never  know  what  transpired  from  the  time  he 
left  Chicago  until  he  was  found  at  Sedgefield.” 

“Well,  Doctor,  this  leaves  our  case  in  a  very  em- 
barrasing  condition.” 

“It  does,  indeed,  Burbanks,”  responded  the 
Doctor;  “it  makes  Shiers  legally  guilty  of  bigamy 
in  marrying  Mrs.  Toplass.” 

“And  it  takes  away  the  stigma  which  you  re¬ 
marked  would  rest  upon  modern  evangelism  if  it 
were  proved  that  Shiers  was  insane.” 

“That’s  true.  My  old  friends,  the  theologians 
and  evangelists,  haven’t  that  to  explain  away. 


ANOTHER  CURIOUS  COMPLICATION.  167 

Shiers  may  be  a  crank,  but  the  present  evidence  is 
that  he  has  as  much  and  as  healthy  a  mind  as  he 
ever  possessed.” 

“Well,  what  is  to  be  the  next  move?” 

“We  must  possess  our  souls  in  patience.  We 
must  carefully  consider  whether  the  best  interests 
of  society  would  be  promoted  by  revealing  what  we 
know  or  by  suppressing  it.” 

“As  a  newspaper  man,”  I  remarked,  “I  am  op¬ 
posed  to  suppressed  sensations.” 

“Naturally  you  are,  Burbanks,  but  we  have  here 
a  very  delicate  and  complex  problem.  Publication 
of  the  facts  would  check  Captain  Shiers  in  his 
barbaric  but  semi-useful  career,  and  would  engulf 
Mrs.  Toplass  in  endless  grief  and  misery  by  prov¬ 
ing  that  she  never  was  a  wife,  and  that  her  children 
are  illegitimate.  You  and  I  alone  possess  this  grave 
secret.  I  leave  it  to  your  judgment  as  a  humane 
man,  not  as  an  ambitious  reporter,  to  decide  this 
problem.” 

“I  think,  Doctor,”  said  I,  after  a  few  moments 
reflection,  “you  had  better  try  and  convince  Mrs. 
Toplassthat  her  husband  is  dead.” 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CAPTAIN  SKIERS  SLIPS  THE  TRACES. 

When  I  told  him  of  the  latest  development  of 
this  kaleidoscopic  case,  the  city  editor  said: 

“Mrs.  Toplass  has  suffered  enough,  poor  woman, 
and  it  would  be  cruel  to  add  to  her  sorrow  by  re¬ 
lating  those  curious  facts  in  cold  type.  As  for 
Captain  Shiers,  he  is  a  harmless  crank,  doing  neither 
much  harm  nor  much  good  by  his  salvation  mission. 
We’ll  let  the  matter  drop.  There’s  no  likelihood  of 
anybody  else  getting  hold  of  the  story,  and  some 
day  you  will  have  a  chance  of  writing  it  up  as  an 
interesting  Chicago  mystery.” 

“Man  proposes  and  God  disposes,”  says  the 
French  proverb.  It  was  decreed  that  the  matter 
should  not  drop,  and  that  the  same  cause  which  led 
to  Captain  Shiers’  downfall  in  the  Durham  seaport 
should  entail  upon  him  misery  and  madness  in 
Chicago. 

Being  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Shiers  dom¬ 
icile  one  day,  I  thought  I’d  drop  in  and  learn  how 
the  Salvationist  and  his  interesting  wife  were  get¬ 
ting  along.  I  found  Mrs.  Shiers  alone.  Her  face 


CAPTAIN  SHIERS  SLIPS  THE  TRACES.  l6g 

was  pale  and  careworn,  and  there  were  dark  rims 
around  her  eyes.  To  my  inquiry  she  said  her  hus¬ 
band  was  well,  but  there  was  a  sad  tone  in  her  voice 
which  denoted  trouble  in  the  household.  I  at  once 
associated  it  with  Barton,  as  I  could  not  imagine 
that  any  other  cause  but  unreasonable  jealousy  on 
Shiers*  part  would  so  blanch  the  cheeks  of  this 
faithful  woman  and  bring  tears  to  her  eyes. 

She  flushed  under  my  questioning  glance,  and 
then  with  a  sudden  frankness  cried: 

“Fm  not  well  myself,  Mr.  Burbanks;  John  has 
been  acting  strange  of  late,  and  1  mistrust  that  all 
is  not  right  with  him.” 

“Nothing  serious,  I  hope,  Mrs.  Shiers?”  said  I, 
uneasily, 

“IFs  the  old  trouble,  Fm  afraid,  sir,**  she  replied 
with  quivering  lips. 

“Not  drink,  surely.** 

“Ah!  yes,  sir,**  she  responded,  her  eyes  filling 
with  tears,  “it*s  drink  and — and  jealousy  again.  It*s 
perhaps  wrong  for  me  to  say  this,  sir,  but  you  know 
our  sad  history  and  the  wretchedness  and  woe  of 
our  past.  Oh!  sir,  it  wrings  my  heart  to  see  him 
drifting  away  from  grace.  He  has  fought  and 


170 


CAPTAIN  SHIERS  SLIPS  THE  TRACES. 


struggled  against  the  old  passion,  but  he  is  weak, 
sir,  and  does  not  pray  as  if  his  soul  were  right/’ 

“But  he  still  continues  his  work?” 

“Yes,  but  it  is  not  with  the  same  heartiness. 
There’s  liquor  on  his  breath,  sir,  and  he  cannot 
tamper  long  with  the  cup  and  remain  safe.  I  feel 
as  though  my  heart  would  break  at  times.” 

The  little  woman  broke  completely  down  and 
sobbed  piteously  for  awhile. 

“Where  is  Mr.  Barton?”  I  asked,  when  she  had 
regained  her  composure. 

“He  has  a  room  in  the  neighborhood,  and  comes 
in  occasionally.  I’m  afraid  its  through  him  that 
John  has  gone  wrong.” 

“Why,  he  does  not  tempt  Mr.  Shiers,  surely?” 

“No,  not  in  the  way  of  drink,  sir.  Mr.  Barton  is 
honestly  trying  to  live  soberly  and  righteously. 
But  John  has  begun  to  suspect - ” 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  wept 
bitterly  again. 

“I  know  what  you  mean,  Mrs.  Shiers,”  said  I 
gently;  “your  husband  told  me  a  few  days  ago  of 
his  madness,  but  he  left  me  fully  convinced  of  your 
love  and  truth,  and  promised  to  be  a  man.  I’m  ex¬ 
ceedingly  sorry  that  he  has  not  kept  his  pledge.” 


CAPTAIN  SKIERS  SLIPS  THE  TRACES. 

“Oh,  he*d  be  all  right  and  loving  and  happy 
again,  sir,”  she  said  hurriedly,  as  though  she  ought 
to  defend  the  man’s  character,  “if  he’d  keep  away 
from  that  cursed  stuff;  but  it’s  a  hard  struggle 
when  the  craving  comes  on.  It’s  all  imagination 
about  Mr.  Barton,  sir,  and  John  admits  it  himself 
after  the  frenzy  leaves  him.’’ 

Before  she  could  say  more  Captain  Shiers  en¬ 
tered  the  room  with  flushed  face  and  hesitating 
step.  He  looked  suspiciously  first  at  his  wife  and 
then  at  me,  and  said  in  a  thick  voice: 

“Eh,  noo,  what  hev  you  two  been  talkin  abawt?” 

“His  wife  was  confused  and  apparently  afraid  to 
reply. 

“We’ve  been  having  a  quiet  talk  about  yourself, 
Captain,’’  answered  I. 

“You  hev,  hev  you?’*  he  said,  a  frown  over¬ 
spreading  his  face;  “then  you’ve  had  a  mighty  good 
subject  I  can  assure  you,  and  I  cannot  see  what 
thou  has  hed  to  greet  abawt.’’ 

He  looked  at  his  wife  fiercely  and  sat  down. 

“And  let  me  tell  thee,  lad,”  he  continued  in  the 
same  thick,  gutteral  tones,  “it  beant  safe  policy  to 
meddle  in  family  affairs.  Thou’s  shown  uncommon 


172 


CAPTAIN  SKIERS  SLIPS  THE  TRACES. 


sense  in  some  things,  but  thou’s  a  fule  to  step  in 
atween  mon  and  wife/* 

“Why,  John,'*  protested  his  wife  timidly. 

“Howd  thy  tongue,  lass,*’  he  said,  angrily.  “I 
can  manage  my  oan  affairs.  St.  Paul  saays  a 
wooman  should  be  seen  and  not  heerd,  and  I  think 
th’  owd  lad  were  reet,  becos  a  man  hoo’s  ruled  by 
his  wife  is  a  white-livered  milk-sop,  onyhoo.** 

The  man  was  well  under  the  influence  of  liquor, 
and  I  thought  it  wise  to  take  my  departure.  As  I 
reached  for  my  hat  Shiers  rose  unsteadily  and  said: 

“Doan’t  be  in  a  hurry,  my  lad.  There’s  soom 
things  that  owt  to  be  spokken  oot  as  a  prize-faighter 
strikes — straight  from  th’  showlder.  And  I’m  fain 
to  speeak  my  maind  noo.  I  divvent  laike  sneaks  of 
ony  kaind.  Ivery  thing  is  oppen  and  above  booard 
wi’  me,  and  what  I  want  to  know  reet  noo,  wi’  no 
shirkin’  or  circumlocution,  what  is  thou  oop  to?” 

“John,  John,**  cried  his  wife,  sobbing,  “how  can 
you  talk  to  the  gentleman  in  that  way?” 

“Stop  thy  greetin’  thou  fond  fule,”  he  said,  sav¬ 
agely,  facing  the  little  woman  with  a  gleam  in  his 
bloodshot  eyes. 

“For  heaven’s  sake,  go  sir,”  cried  Mrs.  Shiers  to 


CAPTAIN  SKIERS  SLIPS  THE  TRACES.  1 73 

“He  winnat  go  till  I’ve  hed  my  saay,”  shouted 
her  husband,  placing  his  bulky  form  in  the  doorway. 
I  towd  thee  I  div^vent  like  sneaks,  and  thou  wasn’t 
mon  enuff  to  tak  me  oop.  Doesn’t  thou  think  I’ve 
enuff  to  put  oop  wi’  wi’  that  chuckle-yedded,  de¬ 
ceitful  skoondrel.  Barton,  skulkin’  aroond  my  prem¬ 
ises?  Doesn’t  thou  know  that  my  patience  has  bin 
tried  to  th’  utmoost?  Or  is  thou  yane  of  thoase 
bowd  villains  hoo  thinks  he  can  ,  swagger  through 
ony  mischief  belaike  it  suits  his  time  and  conveni¬ 
ence?  Gie  me  answer  at  yance,  or - ” 

His  wife  shrieked  as  Shiers  made  a  threatening 
gesture.  I  looked  him  steadily  in  the  face  and  said: 

“Captain  Shiers  you  are  unduly  excited  this 
afternoon,  and  are  making  cowardly  insinuations 
against  your  wife  that  you  will  regret  when  you  are 
sober.” 

“Sober!”  he  bawled,  raising  his  hand  again; 
“does  thou  mean  to  saay  I’m  drunk?  Why,  thou 
conscienceless  skoondrel,  I’ll  mash  thee  and  purr 
thee  on  th’  yed.” 

He  advanced  another  step,  when  in  an  instant 
the  savage  look  fled  from  his  face  and  his  arm 
dropped  nerveless  to  his  side.  Tears  sprang  into 
his  eyes  and  he  cried  hysterically: 


174  CAPTAIN  SKIERS  SLIPS  THE  TRACES, 

“Forgie  me,  lad!  I’m  sair  beat.  Troubles  coom 
clusterin’  roond  and  I’m  welly  daft.  Eh!  Lizzie, 
my  lass!  I’m  a  wreck  again.  Th’  laight  hes 
left  me,  and  I’m  wallowin’  i’  th’  black  and  dismal 
swamp  of  evil  passions.  Eh!  but  I’m  main  sorry 
for  my  ugly  tongue  and  temper.” 

He  grasped  and  shook  my  hand  wildly,  and  then 
staggered  to  the  lounge,  upon  which  he  fell  ex¬ 
hausted. 

“Does  this  occur  often?”  I  whispered  to  the 
weeping  woman. 

“No,  sir;  this  is  the  first  violent  outburst.  You 
had  better  go  while  he  is  quiet.” 

“But  is  it  safe  to  leave  you?” 

“Perfectly  safe,  sir,”  she  said  with  a  sad  smile; 
“he’ll  wake  penitent  and  remorseful,  but  he  must 
drop  his  commission  in  the  army.  Oh!  it  is  such  a 
disgrace.” 

As  I  left  the  house  I  came  face  to  face  with  Ned 
Barton.  The  man  was  better  dressed,  and  there 
was  a  healthy  color  in  his  cheeks. 

“Ah!  Mr.  Burbanks,”  he  cried  merrily;  “I  am 
glad  to  see  you.  How  do  you  find  our  friends?” 


CAPTAIN  SHIERb  SLIPS  THE  TRACES.  1 75 

Coming  fresh  from  that  painful  scene  the  man’s 
jauntiness  jarred  on  my  nerves,  and  I  responded 
significantly: 

“I  do  not  find  them  as  peaceful  and  contented  as 
they  were  before  your  advent.” 

*‘Oh!  I  guess  the  old  man  has  slipped  the  traces 
again,”  said  Barton  with  a  perceptible  sneer. 

“That’s  rather  a  slighting  way  of  referring  to  the 
husband  of  the  woman  who  rescued  you  from  the 
gutter.” 

This  thrust  went  home.  The  blood  mounted 
into  Barton’s  face,  and  his  eyes  flashed  angrily. 

“I’m  not  aware  that  it’s  any  of  your  business,” 
he  hotly  retorted. 

“Pardon  me,  my  dear  sir,”  I  said  blandly,  “you 
have  yourself  to  blame  if  I  touched  you  on  the  raw. 
But  let  me  give  you  a  word  'of  advice.  Captain 
Shiers  is  enraged  about  you  hanging  around  his 
home.  As  you  elegantly  express  it,  he  has  slipped 
the  traces,  and  you  will  be  the  first  to  feel  the  effect 
of  his  mad  freedom.  If  you  value  your  head  keep 
out  of  his  sight.” 


176  CAPTAIN  SKIERS  SLIPS  THE  TRACES. 

Bartbn  turned  pale  as  a  ghost,  and  his  lips  trem¬ 
bled  as  he  muttered: 

“The  old  fool.” 

He  turned  on  his  heels  without  another  word  and 
walked  hurriedly  away  from  Shiers*  door. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

NED  BARTON  MURDERED. 

I  had  taken  an  instinctive  dislike  to  Mr.  Barton. 
He  impressed  me  as  a  flippant,  selfish  fellow,  who. 
knowing  the  irratation  his  presence  caused  Captain 
Shiers,  persisted  in  inflicting  the  man  with  his 
society.  That  he  had  more  than  a  friendly  regard 
for  Mrs.  Shiers  I  strongly  suspected.  Those  tender 
glances  he  cast  upon  her  were  not  inspired  by  pure 
gratitude  for  charitable  services;  they  bore  the  sign 
of  a  cowardly,  unlawful  passion.  His  sneering  allu¬ 
sion  to  the  unfortunate  Salvationist  proved  the 
contemptible  narrowness  of  his  nature,  and  I  could 
not  refrain  from  showing  him  that  his  base  designs 
were  known. 

Owing  to  the  sickness  of  a  member  of  the  re- 
portorial  staff,  I  was  transferred  to  night  police 
work  for  the  remainder  of  that  week.  This  duty  is 
one  of  the  most  arduous  and  important  that  falls  to 
the  lot  of  a  city  reporter.  The  night  man  makes 
his  headquarters  at  the  Central  Station,  where  tele¬ 
graphic  reports  are  received  concerning  all  criminal 
12G  ' 


178  NED  BARTON  MURDERED. 

or  sensational  happenings  within  the  police  juris¬ 
diction  of  Chicago.  He  has  to  be  continually  on 
the  alert,  and  work  with  lightning  celerity  to  supply 
his  paper  with  graphic  accounts  of  fires,  suicides, 
burglaries  and  murders. 

The  second  night  after  my  assignment  to  this 
duty  was  an  unusually  busy  one.  Early  in  the  even¬ 
ing  there  were  two  serious  fires  in  the  business  sec¬ 
tion;  later  on  came  reports  of  three  shooting 
scrapes  in  saloons,  and  at  ii  o’clock,  after  my  man¬ 
uscript  accounts  of  these  affairs  had  been  sent  to 
the  office,  news  was  received  of  a  desperate  murder 
on  West  Twelfth  street,  near  the  Cathedral.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  devil  had  broken  loose  and  an 
epidemic  of  crime  was  raging. 

I  jumped  into  a  carriage  and  drove  rapidly  to 
the  Twelfth  Street  Police  Station,  where  the  victim 
had  been  taken.  Captain  O’Donnell,  one  of  the 
most  active  and  vigilant  officers  of  the  force,  gave 
me  all  the  details  of  the  affair  he  had  been  able  to 
gather. 

“At  10:45,”  he  said,  “one  of  my  men,  who  was  at 
the  corner  of  Twelfth  and  Blue  Island  avenue, 
heard  two  shots  in  the  direction  of  the  Jesuits’  Col¬ 
lege.  On  going  forward  to  ascertain  the  cause,  he 


NED  BARTON  MURDERED.  179 

found  a  man  groaning  on  the  sidewalk,  with  blood 
flowing  from  a  wound  in  his  left  side.  The  poor 
fellow  was  in  mortal  agony,  and  could  only  gasp 
that  an  unknown  man  had  attempted  to  rob  him, 
and  on  meeting  with  resistance  had  drawn  a  re¬ 
volver  and  fired  twice  at  him  and  fled.  He  pointed 
westward,  as  if  to  indicate  that  the  assassin  ran  in 
that  direction,  and  then  became  insensible.  The 
officer  called  the  patrol  wagon  and  the  victim  was 
brought  here.  He  is  in  my  private  office  now  in 
care  of  the  county  physician.  He  is  still  alive,  but 
there  is  no  hope  for  him.  He  may  die  at  any  mo¬ 
ment.  I  have  turned  in  a  general  alarm  and  officers 
are  scouring  the  city  for  the  murderer.” 

“What’s  the  name  of  the  wounded  man?”  I 
asked. 

“We’ve  not  been  able  to  get  it  from  him,”  re¬ 
plied  Captain  O’Donnell. 

I  followed  the  Captain  into  his  private  office  to 
look  at  the  victim.  I  started  back  in  surprise  when 
I  saw  the  prostrate  man.  There,  stretched  out  on  a 
cot,  with  ashen  face  and  the  life-blood  slowly  trick¬ 
ling  from  a  wound  near  the  heart,  was  Edward  Bar¬ 
ton,  the  whilom  friend  and  patient  of  Mrs.  Shiers. 


l80  NED  BARTON  MURDERED. 

Captain  O’Donnell  noticed  my  astonishment  and 
asked  if  I  knew  the  man. 

“Yes,”  I  replied,  “he  is  a  compositor  named 
Edward  Barton.” 

“Where  did  he  work?” 

“That  I  don’t  know;  he  but  recently  recovered 
from  a  fit  of  sickness.” 

“Do  you  know  anything  else  about  him?  Has 
he  any  friends  who  ought  to  be  notified? 

I  was  about  to  mention  the  names  of  Captain 
Shiers  and  his  wife  when  the  suspicion  flashed 
across  my  mind  that  perhaps  the  Salvationist  was 
Barton’s  assailant.  Without  any  intention  of  block¬ 
ing  the  wheels  of  justice  I  thought  it  discreet  to 
withold  my  suspicion,  and  answered  evasively: 

“I  don’t  know  where  he  lived.” 

Barton  opened  his  eyes  while  we  were  conversing 
and  gave  me  a  feeble  glance  of  recognition. 

“The  man  knows  you,”  said  Captain  O’Donnell; 
*‘try  what  you  can  find  out  from  him.” 

As  I  went  to  the  side  of  Barton’s  couch  the  Doc¬ 
tor  whispered: 

“Be  careful  and  not  excite  him;  he  is  at  a  low 
ebb.” 


NED  BARTON  MURDERED. 


i8i 


The  man  motioned  feebly,  as  though  he  had  a 
communication  to  make.  I  bent  over  him  and  he 
gasped  painfully: 

“I  did  not  heed  your  warning,  Mr.  Burbanks;  he 
has  killed  me!” 

“Who  do  you  mean?”  I  asked. 

“You  know — Shiers.” 

He  closed  his  eyes  after  this  effort  and  there 
was  an  ominous  rattle  in  his  throat. 

“What  did  he  say?”  demanded  O’Donnell,  who 
had  not  caught  the  full  import  of  the  man’s  com¬ 
munication. 

“Wait  a  moment,”  responded  I,  as  Barton 
showed  signs  of  rallying.  The  poor  fellow  opened 
his  eyes  again  and  fixed  them  on  my  face  with 
dying  intensity. 

“Don’t — tell,”  he  whispered;  “save — her — the — 
man — is — mad  1’  ’ 

“But  you  told  the  officer  some  one  tried  to  rob 
and  then  shoot  you,”  I  whispered;  “wasn’t  that 
true?” 

“No,”  he  gasped,  with  a  faint  smile  flickering  on 
his  pallid  face;  “I — didn’t — want — them— to — know. 
He — saw — me —  leave — the — house — and — followed 


I82 


NED  BURTON  MURDERED. 


—  and  —  shot  —  me.  But  —  spare  —  her  — feelings. 
Don’t — tell; — there’s — been — misery — enough.” 

“Whom  does  he  accuse?”  inquired  O’Donnell. 

Barton  looked  at  me  entreatingly,  and  tried  to 
shake  his  head.  I  hesitated  to  reply.  O’Donnell 
observed  my  reluctance,  and,  turning  to  the  wounded 
man,  demanded: 

“Who  did  you  say  shot  you?  Answer,  my  good 
man;  you  are  in  a  dangerous  state,  and  we  want  to 
apprehend  your  assailant.” 

Barton  tried  to  raise  himself  on  his  elbows.  The 
glare  of  death  was  in  his  eyes;  there  was  a  gurgling 
sound  in  his  throat.  He  opened  his  lips  and  gasped: 

“Nobody!” 

A  quick,  convulsive  shudder  passed  over  his 
frame  and  he  fell  back  dead. 

“Now,  Burbanks,”  said  Captain  O’Donnell, 
throwing  a  newspaper  over  the  man’s  face,  “who 
killed  that  poor  fellow?  He  gave  you  some  one’s 
name.” 

I  felt  inclined  to  respect  Barton’s  dying  request, 
but  realizing  the  claims  of  justice  as  opposed  tp 
compassion,  I  answered: 

“He  said  John  Shiers  shot  him,’* 


NED  BARTON  MURDERED.  183 

“John  Shiers!”  exclaimed  Captain  O’Donnell, 
“and  who’s  John  Shiers?” 

“The  captain  of  the  Salvation  Army.” 

“Great  Csesar!”  cried  the  excited  Captain.  “Why, 
we’ll  soon  pinch  him.  He  is  known  to  every  office! 
on  the  West  Side.” 

O’Donnell  hurried  into  the  outer  office  and  sent 
a  dispatch  to  the  Central  Station  that  Shiers  was 
the  man  who  committed  the  murder,  and  every 
available  officer  in  the  district  was  set  to  work 
searching  for  the  captain  of  the  Salvation  Army. 


“w  .• 


CHAPTER  XXL 

BREAKING  THE  NEWS  TO  MRS.  SKIERS.  ; 

Having  set  the  machinery  of  the  law  at  work  to  ^ 

s 

capture  Captain  Shiers,  I  did  not  consider  myself  j 
under  any  obligations  to  conduct  or  direct  the 
police  officers  to  his  residence.  It  was  a  simple 
matter  to  find  out  the  abode  of  so  well-known  and 
eccentric  a  character,  and  nay  newspaper  ambition,  v 
to  say  nothing  of  a  deep  compassion  for  the  assas¬ 
sin’s  wife,  urged  me  to  be  first  on  the  field  to  break 
the  news,  and,  if  possible,  to  obtain  additional  par-  / 
ticulars  of  the  crime  in  advance  of  my  professibnal 
rivals.  /v 

The  hour  was  late  and  there  was  not  a  moment 
to  lose  if  I  wished  to  get  a  full  account  of  the 
tragedy  in  the  first  edition.  Telling  the  driver  to 
head  towards  the  office,  so  as  to  avert  the  suspicion 
of  my  associates,  who  were  in  full  force  at  the  police 
station  by  this  time,  I  stopped  him  at  Desplaines 
street  and  urged  him  to  speed  his  horses  to  the 
grocery  store  on  South  Halsted  street  over  which 
Shiers  and  his  family  lived. 


BREAKING  THE  NEWS  TO  MRS.  SHIERS.  18$ 

We  reached  there  shortly  after  midnight.  There 
was  a  light  in  the  window  of  the  sitting-room.  The 
front  door  was  open,  and  I  ran  upstairs;  The  noise 
of  my  footsteps  brought  Mrs.  Shiers  to  the  landing, 
with  a  lamp  in  her  hand. 

“I  thought  it  was  John,”  she  cried  in  a  fright¬ 
ened  voice,  as  she  recognized  me. 

“Is  he  not  here?”  I  asked. 

“No;  but  whatever’s  the  matter?”  queried  the 
little  woman,  her  face  aglow  with  excitement. 
“Come  in.” 

I  entered  the  sparsely  furnished  sitting-room, 
which  was  now  so  familiar  to  me.  Mrs.  Shiers  set 
the  lamp  down  on  a  table,  and  stood  regarding  me 
in  silence  for  a  short  space. 

“You  bring  bad  news,”  she  cried,  placing  her 
hand  nervously  on  her  breast;  “I  see  it  in  your 
face.  What  has  happened  John?  Quick;  tell  me.” 

“You  are  alone?”  I  stammered,  scarce  knowing 
what  to  say. 

“Yes,  yes,”  she  replied  excitedly.  But  the  news 
— tell  me  the  news.  I  can  bear  it  whatever  it  may 
be.” 

She  seated  herself  with  forced  calmness  near  the 
table  as  though  she  desired  to  show  that  she  could 


1 86  BREAKING  THE  NEWS  TO  MRS.  SHIERS. 


control  herself.  I  cast  about  for  some  soothing 
expression  with  which  to  tell  the  story,  but  my 
mind  ached  with  its  burden  and  the  words  I  sought 
refused  to  fashion  themselves  on  my  lips.  The 
strain  became  unbearable,  and  with  a  bluntness  I 
knew  to  be  cruel  but  which  for  the  life  of  me  I 
could  not  repress,  I  said; 

“Ned  Barton  has  been  murdered!” 

“Murdered!” 

The  woman  did  not  shriek  this  awful  word.  It 
came  from  her  lips  like  a  heart-broken  wail.  It 
was  like  the  cry  of  a  despairing  soul — wrestling  with 
an  immensity  of  woe. 

Her  head  fell  on  the  table  and  her  frame  shook 
violently.  She  was  not  weeping  however.  When 
she  lifted  her  face  every  vestige  of  color  had  fled, 
her  lips  quivered  but  her  eyes  were  dry  and  shone 
with  feverish  brilliancy. 

“It  has  come  at  last!”  she  cried.  “Oh!  cruel, 
cruel  fate.  We  were  so  happy;  John  was  peaceful 
and  contented,  and  we  could  not  praise  God  enough 
for  His  mercy.  Now  everything  is  black  and  his 
hands  reeking  with  blood.” 

Heavens!  thought  I,  has  she  knowledge  of  the 
tragedy,  or  does  she,  by  some  subtly  instinct,  divine 


BREAKING  THE  NEWS  TO  MRS.  SKIERS,  187 

the  worst?  She  did  not  wait  for  me  to  question 
her. 

“Mr.  Burbanks,”  she  said,  wringing  her  hands, 
“do  not  be  afraid  to  speak  of  this.  Have  they 
caught  John?” 

“Caught  him!”  I  exclaimed,  “then  you  know  it 
was  he  who  shot  Barton?” 

She  clutched  at  her  bosom  again  while  she 
answered  hoarsely: 

“No,  no;  but  your  presence  here  and  his  threats 
tell  me  as  plain  as  words  that  the  hands  of  my  hus¬ 
band  are  stained  with  blood.  Is  it  not  so?” 

^‘Unfortunately,  it  is,  Mrs.  Shiers.  The  man  told 
me  before  he  died  that  your  husband  shot  him.  He 
seemed  to  forgive  the  deed,  for  he  begged  of  me  not 
to  tell  the  officers.” 

“And  they  do  not  know?”  she  cried,  as  a  hope¬ 
ful  light  sprang  into  her  face. 

“They  do  know,  madam.  The  police  captain 
stood  by  while  the  man  breathed  his  last,  and  I  was 
compelled  to  inform  him  of  what  Barton  said.” 

“Ah!”  she  moaned,  piteously,  “but  it  had  to  be 
—it  had  to  be!  Vengeance  belongs  to  the  law,  and 
John  will — oh,  God!  God!  let  me  die!” 


1 88  BRBAKINQ  THE  NEWS  TO  MRS.  SHIERS. 

She  paced  the  floor  in  direful  agony.  I  watched 
her  closely,  dreading  that  her  grief  might  assume 
some  terrible  form.  In  a  few  moments  she  quieted 
down  again,  and  asked  me  for  the  details  of  the 
crime.  I  told  her  what  little  I  knew,  and  asked  if 
Captain  Shiers  and  Barton  had  quarreled  in  her 
presence. 

“No,  not  exactly,”  she  answered.  “Mr.  Barton 
was  here  this  morning,  and  John  told  him  roughly 
that  his  visits  were  not  agreeable.  Barton  said  they 
would  cease  entirely,  as  he  intended  to  leave  shortly 
for  Kansas  City.  The  sooner  they  stop,  said  my 
husband,  the  better  for  us  all.  The  cause  of  this 
disagreement  pained  me  acutely,  sir,  for  the  young 
man  was  merely  respectful  and  grateful  for  my  at¬ 
tention  during  his  sickness.  Still  I  knew  how  bitter 
and  unreasonable  John  was,  and  that  it  would  be 
easier  for  us  all  if  I  made  no  protest.  John  seemed 
pleased  that  Barton  was  going  away;  he  kissed  me 
on  going  out  at  noon,  and  promised  to  ask  pardon 
for  his  sins  and  go  on  with  the  good  work  again,  for 
you  must  know,  sir,  that  since  the  day  you  were 
here  he  cast  off  his  uniform  and  drank  steadily.  I 
began  to  worry  when  John  did  not  return  for  sup¬ 
per.  About  10  o’clock  Mr.  Barton  came  to  bid  me 


BREAKING  THE  NEWS  TO  MRS.  SHIERS.  I89 

*good-by/  stating  that  he  had  decided  to  leave  the 
city  next  day.  While  we  were  talking  John  ap¬ 
peared.  His  face  was  flushed,  and  I  knew  that  he 
had  been  indulging  again.  I  was  fearful  there 
would  be  a  scene,  but  my  husband  turned  abruptly 
and  went  out  with  an  evil  look  on  his  face  when  he 
caught  sight  of  the  visitor.  It  may  have  been  10:30 
when  Mr.  Barton  left.  There  was  a  heavy  load  on 
my  .  heart,  and  I  had  a  presentiment  of  mischief.  I 
was  waiting  for  John,  sir,  when  you  came.  Some¬ 
thing  told  me  that  the  worst  had  happened — that 
my  husband  had  met  Mr.  Barton  and  carried  out 
his  threat  to  kill  him.’* 

“Did  he  make  that  threat  to-day?’* 

“Oh!  no,  sir,”  wailed  the  woman;  “but  he  said  it 
several  times  of  late,  and  I  was  afraid  of  his  temper 
when  he  was  in  his  cups.” 

Heavy  steps  on  the  stairs  made  us  both  start. 
She  ran  to  the  door  with  a  frightened  look.  Two 
policemen  pushed  past  her  into  the  room,  as  if  they 
expected  to  pounce  upon  'her  husband.  They  were 
visibly  dissapointed  when  they  found  that  Mrs. 
Shiers  and  I  were  the  only  occupants. 

“Hang  those  reporters,**  muttered  one,  “they’re 
always  spoiling  our  game.** 


igO  BREAKING  THE  NEWS  TO  MRS.  SHIERS. 

“Where’s  Captain  Shiers?”  demanded  the  other 
gruffly  of  the  woman. 

“I  do  not  know,  gentlemen,”  she  said  in  a  low, 
sad  voice;  “I  have  not  seen  him  since  lo  o’clock, 
when  he  merely  looked  in  and  went  out  again.” 

“That’s  suspicious,”  said  the  one  who  anath¬ 
ematized  the  reporters;  “we’ll  take  a  look  round 
the  premises.” 

They  searched  the  kitchen  and  the  bedroom, 
where  little  Bob  was  asleep  in  a  cot.  Disappointed 
again,  they  came  back  to  the  sitting-room,  and 
asked  what  Mrs.  Shiers  knew  about  the  affair. 

“Only  what  this  gentleman  has  told  me,”  she 
replied,  referring  to  me. 

“Then  we’re  losing  time  here,”  remarked  one, 
“he  knows  no  more  than  we  do.”  And  with  this 
sapient  observation  the  policemen  left  to  pursue 
their  search  elsewhere.  The  noise  they  made  in 
going  down-stairs  awoke  Bob  Shiers,  who  came  in¬ 
to  the  room  in  his  nightshirt  and  in  a  trembling 
voice  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

Mrs.  Shiers  broke  down  at  the  sight  of  her  boy. 
She  clasped  him  tightly  to  her  bosom  and  her  tears 
rained  on  his  head. 


BREAKING  THE  NEWS  TO  MRS.  SHIERS.  IQl 

‘‘Mother!  mother?”  he  cried,  “what  did  those 
horrid  men  want?” 

“Oh!  my  child!  my  child!”  sobbed  the  heart¬ 
broken  woman. 

This  was  all  she  could  say.  The  boy  fell  on 
his  knees  and,  not  knowing  the  cause  of  her  deep 
sorrow,  prayed  God  to  bless  and  comfort  his  mother. 
Mrs.  Shiers  listened  to  the  childish  plea  with 
streaming  eyes,  and  when  I  turned  to  go  they  were 
both  on  their  knees  asking  divine  guidance  and 
consolation  in  this  grievous  hour  of  trial. 

Outside  an  officer  watched  the  house  in  the  hope 
that  Captain  Shiers  would  seek  shelter  at  home. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  SALVATION  CAPTAIN  DEAD. 

Owing  to  the  unpleasant  notoriety  the  Salvation 
Army  had  achieved  in  Chicago,  the  murder  was  the 
sensation  of  the  day.  One  of  the  newspapers  called 
Shiers  a  professional  criminal,  who  used  his  con¬ 
nection  with  the  eccentric  band  of  religionists  to 
cloak  nefarious  projects.  Another  said  his  methods 
of  worship  savored  of  lunacy,  and  that  the  noisy 
sect  ought  to  be  suppressed  in  the  interests  of  peace 
and  morality.  Isolated  remarks  of  the  captain 
were  quoted  to  show  that  his  past  record  was  pro¬ 
fessedly  vile,  and  that  the  murder  was  the  natural 
outcome  of  inherent  vicious  propensities.  There 
were  murmurs  of  lynching  in  case  the  assassin  was 
caught,  and  so  bitter  was  the  feeling  in  the  quarter 
where  the  man  resided  that  his  followers  suspended 
their  street  parades  for  fear  of  inciting  the  venge¬ 
ful  passions  of  the  mob. 

Meanwhile  the  police  authorities  searched  in  vain 
for  Captain  Shiers.  Every  outgoing  train  was 
watched  and  a  close  vigilance  kept  on  departing 


THE  SALVATION  CAPTAIN  DEAD. 


193 


vessels,  as  the  report  got  out  that  he  had  been  a 
sailor  and  might  try  to  escape  by  the  lake.  The 
Salvation  brethren,  who  went  to  condole  with  his 
wife,  were  closely  shadowed  in  the  belief  that  they 
might  have  knowledge  of  his  hiding  place.  But 
the  activity  of  the  officers  proved  fruitless.  Days 
merged  into  weeks  and  not  a  trace  of  taptain 
Shiers  could  be  found. 

I  consulted  Dr.  Gillman  several  times  while  the 
hunt  was  at  its  height.  He  was  greatly  perturbed 
by  what  he  called  the  tragical  termination  of  a  per¬ 
plexing  case,  but  volunteered  no  suggestions  as  to 
how  a  man  with  pronounced  marks  of  individuality 
like  Shiers,  could  manage  to  elude  the  combined 
vigilance  of  the  Chicago  police  force. 

“Burbanks,”  said  he  on  one  occasion,  ‘T  have 
spoken  before  of  the  intense  difficulty  of  gauging 
or  predicting  the  actions  of  a  crazy  man.  There’s  no 
method  of  determining  the  antics  a  diseased  brain 
may  impel  in  any  given  case.  Madness  is  a  subtle 
and  perplexing  disease,  as  you  may  have  observed 
by  your  casual  study  of  Shiers’  career  in  and  out  of 
the  a'oylum.  The  mystery  will  be  cleared  up  some 
day,  but  it  may  be  after  the  man  is  dead  and  for¬ 
gotten,  so  far  as  the  public  is  concerned.  We  can 
13G 


194 


THE  SALVATION  CAPTAIN  DEAD. 


do  nothing  but  wait  patiently  the  developments  of 
time.”  • 

“You  believe,  then,  that  Shiers’  malady  had  re¬ 
turned  when  he  killed  Barton?”  I  asked. 

“Undoubtedly;  the  man*s  mental  poise  was  f 
jeopardized  the  moment  he  resumed  his  drinking  ‘ 
habits,  and  that  his  malady  took  a  homicidal  form 
we  have  abundant  proof  in  his  past  record.” 

“Have  you  any  idea.  Doctor,  that  the  other 
idiosyncrasy — the  assumption  of  the  character  of 
Henry  Toplass — would  return?” 

“Who  knows?  It  is  not  at  all  improbable.” 

“Then  it  would  not  be  unlikely  for  the  man,  un-  , 
conscious  now  of  his  crime  as  he  was  of  his  former 
vagary,  to  attempt  to  resume  relations  with  Mrs. 
Toplass.” 

The  Doctor  started  perceptibly  at  the  sugges¬ 
tion. 

“For  heaven’s  sake,  Burbanks,”  he  cried,  “keep 
that  terrible  thought  to  yourself.  Mrs.  Toplass  is  a 
very  sick  woman  again,  and  serious  consequences 
might  ensue  if  you  inadvertently  sent  those  cold¬ 
blooded  fiends,  the  detectives,  to  aggravate  her 
nervous  condition  by  pestering  her  with  heartless 
questions.” 


■f* 


THE  SALVATION  CAPTAIN  DEAD.  I95 

“But  she  must  be  prepared  for  something  of  the 
kind.” 

“In  what  respect?”  queried  the  Doctor,  warmly. 

“She  must  know  that  Shiers,  the  man  whom  she 
challenged  as  her  husband,  is  wanted  on  a  charge 
of  murder.” 

“She  knows  nothing  of  the  sort,”  cried  Dr.  Gill- 
man;  “every  newspaper  containing  mention  of  the 
affair  has  been  kept  out  of  her  sight.” 

“By  your  advice?” 

“Yes,  by  my  advice.” 

It  was  no  use  arguing  with  Dr.  Gillman;  he  set 
his  face  sternly  against  any  intimation  of  the  man’s 
identity  with  Henry  Toplass,  the  missing  merchant, 
being  given  the  authorities,  and  at  last,  although  I 
had  a  vague  suspicion  that  his  motive  was  stronger 
than  a  mere  desire  to  allow  the  case  to  work  out  its 
own  solution,  I  agreed  to  respect  his  wishes. 

But  what  of  that  grief-stricken  woman  on  the 
West  Side? 

I  saw  Mrs.  Shiers  frequently  during  the  excite¬ 
ment  of  the  search  for  her  unfortunate  spouse.  She 
grew  paler  and  paler  as  the  weeks  passed  on.  Her 
features  sharpened  with  anxiety  and  deep  lines  of 
care  furrowed  her  brow.  The  sorrowful  expression 


196  THE  SALVATION  CAPTAIN  DEAD. 

•  4 

to  which  Captain  Shiers  called  attention  after  his  ^ 
interview  with  Mrs.  Toplass,  deepened,  and  was  so 

.  4 

marked  at  times  that  one  could  almost  imagine  he,  .  - 

was  looking  into  the  face  of  that  unfortunate  lady. 

“When  I  mentioned  this  peculiar  circumstance 
to  Dr.  Gillman,  he  said: 

“It  is  not  so  strange  as  you  think.  Both  women  ;  '  ' 

y  , 

have  experienced  the  same  harrowing  sorrow,  im¬ 
posed  through  association  with  the  same  unfortu¬ 
nate  man.  Similarity  of  suffering  has  graven  the 
same  lines  on  their  features;  it  bears  out  the  oft- 
recognized  fact  that  man  and  wife,  through  intimate 
communion  and  mutual  aspirations,  develop  a  re¬ 
semblance  in  facial  expression.” 

Mrs.  Shiers  bore  patiently  this  stroke  of  dire  ad¬ 
versity.  She  was  not  so  active  in  Salvation  work  as 
formerly;  she  took  no  part  in  the  public  services, 
but  she  occupied  herself  with  tender  ministrations  r 

'  s'  ■  V  ‘ 

to  the  spiritual  weal  of  the  newly  converted  Chris-  ;  . ! 
tians.  The  captain  who  succeeded  to  the  command 
of  the  army  bore  warm  testimony  to  her  piety  and 
helpfulness  to  the  cause. 

“She  is  a  brave,  good,  pure  woman,”  he  said, 

“one  who  has  passed  through  the  fire  of  bitter 
affliction  and  left  all  earthly  dross  in  the  process. 


I 


THE  SALVATION  CAPTAIN  DEAD. 


197 


Ah!  sir,  if  ever  there  was  a  saint,  Mrs.  Shiersls  one. 
Her  trouble  has  been  great,  her  anguish  keen,  but 
her  good  deeds  are  written  in  letters  of  gold  in  the 
eternal  record,  and  she  will  reap  rich  reward  in  the 
celestial  kingdom.” 

I  received  a  note  from  her  three  months  after 
the  tragedy,  requesting  me  to  call,  as  she  was  pre¬ 
paring  to  return  to  Europe,  and  “wished  to  thank 
you  once  more  for  the  many  acts  of  kindness  and 
consideration  to  myself  and  dead  husband.” 

The  significance  of  those  last  words  started  a 
train  of  curious  thoughts.  Her  dead  husband! 

Previous  experience  had  warned  me  of  the  futility 
of  speculation,  and  I  went  over  to  Halsted  street  to 
bid  the  woman  farewell  and  listen  to  her  explana¬ 
tion  of  this  absorbing  problem.  ^ 

“I  am  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  calling,” 
Mrs.  Shiers  remarked,  after  welcoming  me  in  the 
sitting-room.  “I  wanted  to  see  you  before  starting 
for  England.” 

“I  presume  you  are  glad  to  get  out  of  this  city, 
Mrs.  Shiers,”  said  I. 

“Yes,”  she  responded  with  a  deep  sigh,  “this 
place  has  many  painful  associations.  I  came  with 
glad,  hopeful  thoughts  for  the  future,  sir,  and  for  a 


igS  THE  SALVATION  CAPTAIN  DEAD. 

time  it  seemed  that  life  in  the  New  World  would  be 
a  source  of  perpetual  peace  and  content.  But  we 
are  in  the  hands  of  One  who  sometimes  ordains 
things  contrary  to  human  desires.  His  infinite  wis¬ 
dom  arranges  our  course,  and  though  the  way  looks 
dark  and  dreary  and  there  are  briars  and  thorns  in 
the  path,  yet  we  must  bow  cheerfully  to  His  will 
and  bear  the  tribulations  He  sees  fit  to  impose.” 

“There  was  a  passage  in  your  note  that  excited 
my  curiosity,  madam,”  I  remarked.  “You  referred 
to  your  husband  as  though  you  knew  he  was  dead.” 

Tears  came  into  Jier  eyes,  and  her  voice  trembled 
as  she  responded: 

“That  was  one  of  the  matters  I  wished  to  speak 
to  you  about.  John  is  dead  sir;  he  died  very  soon  after 
that  awful  affair.  I  was  asked  not  to  say  anything 
about  his  death,  even  to  you,  sir.  I  gave  my  word 
that  I  would  not,  but  I  feel  partially  absolved  from 
the  promise  now.” 

“To  whom  did  you  make  that  pledge?”  I  asked. 

“Pardon  me,  Mr.  Burbanks,  but  I  must  not  tell 
that  yet.  He  died  peaceably,  but  with  his  mind 
sorely  distraught  and  confused.  I  closed  his  eyes 
myself.  Ah!  it  was  a  sad  trial,  sir,  but  I  was  thank¬ 
ful  it  was  no  worse.  I  dread  to  think  what  might 


THE  SALVATION  CAPTAIN  DEAD. 


199 


have  happened  had  the  officers  discovered  him. 
Thank  God  we  were  spared  that  bitter  blow.” 

“Did  he  die  in  Chicago?” 

“Yes,  sir;  while  his  mind  was  far  afield,  and  the 
memory  of  that  frightful  night  entirely  obliterated, 
he  found  kind  and  indulgent  friends  who  nursed 
him  through  his  illness  and  sacredly  guarded  his 
terrible  secret.  A  great  many  things  were  ex- 
plained  which  puzzled  and  bewildered  me  during 
that  trying  time  when  you  first  made  our  acquain¬ 
tance.  I  know  now  the  full  misfortune  of  that 
poor  lady.  Ah!  sir,  how  ill-fated  John  seems  to 
have  been  from  our  mortal  standpoint.  But  I 
cannot  say  more,  sir.  When  and  how  my  poor  hus¬ 
band  died  must  remain  a  mystery  for  the  present. 
All  I  can  tell  you  is  that  he  is  dead  and  that  God, 
in  His  infinite  goodness,  has  given  me  grace  and 
strength  to  bear  the  yoke.” 

The  subject  was  a  painful  one,  and  I  forebore 
questioning  the  little  woman  further.  We  con¬ 
versed  awhile  on  her  plans  and  prospects  for  the 
future.  She  told  me  that  she  was  going  into  home 
mission  work  in  London,  and  that  officers  of  the  army 
would  interest  themselves  in  her  son  and  educate 
him  for  an  evangelical  career. 


200 


THE  SALVATION  CAPTAIN  DEAD. 


“You  will  know  all  in  good  time,  sir,’*  she  said 
as  I  bade  her  adieu  and  wished  her  a  safe  journey 
to  her  new  field  of  labor. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BY  THE  GRAVE  AT  WOODLAWN. 

Early  in  the  following  September  Dr.  Gillman, 
who  seemed  to  avoid  me  after  our  last  recorded 
interview,  came  to  the  reporters’  room  and  invited 
me  to  take  a  drive  with  him. 

“It’s  a  beautiful  day,  Burbanks,”  said  he  cheer¬ 
ily;  “the  leaves  are  just  beginning  to'  turn,  and 
there’s  a  health-giving  breeze  from  the  lake. 
Sheathe  your  pencil  and  come  to  Woodlawn  with 
me.  There  is  a  certain  matter  I  want  to  talk  over 
with  you  and  a  certain  constraint  between  us  that 
ought  to  be  removed.  Do  you  remember  what 
day  this  is?” 

“It’s  the  9th  of  September,  Doctor,”  I  answered, 
somewhat  surprised  at  his  manner.  “I  know  no 
particular  reason  why  I  should  remember  it.” 

“But  there  is  a  very  good  reason  why  you 
should  bear  it  in  mind,”  he  responded;  “it  is  the 
anniversary  of  Barton’s  violent  death.” 

“Ah!”  exclaimed  I,  surprised  still  more,  “are  you 
going  to  visit  his  grave?” 


202 


BY  THE  GRAVE  AT  WOODLAWN. 


“Ask  no  questions,”  said  the  doctor,  “but  come 
along." 

We  drove  out  to  the  cemetery,  and  Dr.  Gillman, 
who  had  been  very  talkative  on  almost  every  topic 
except  the  one  uppermost  in  my  mind,  led  the  way 
in  silence  to  a  grave,  well  kept  and  beautifully 
bordered  with  plants  and  flowers,  in  the  northwest 
corner  of  the  burying  place. 

“There,"  he  said  solemnly,  pointing  to  a  plain 
marble  slab  at  the  head  of  the  mound,  “there  is  the 
key  to  the  mystery." 

The  tombstone  bore  the  following  inscription: 

SACRED  TO 
THE  MEMORY  OF 

HENRY  TOPLASS, 

WHO  DIED  AT 
CHICAGO  NOV.  10,  l88— 

AGED  42  YEARS. 

Here  lurks  no  treason,  here  no  envy  dwells, 

Here  grow  no  damned  grudges;  Here  are  no 
storms, 

No  noise,  but  silence  and  eternal  sleep. 

“Then  this  is  Shiers’  grave,"  said  I  quietly,  after 
reading  the  inscription. 


BY  THE  GRAVE  AT  WOODLAWN. 


203 


“It  is;  but  you  do  not  seem  surprised/’  responded 
Dr,  Gillman,  who  had  been  observing  me  closely. 

“I  knew  the  man  was  dead;  what  matters  it 
where  he  is  buried,  or  what  sentiment  you  inscribe 
on  his  tombstone?” 

“It’s  just  as  I  feared,”  cried  the  Doctor,  with 
some  excitement;  “you  cannot  trust  a  woman  after 
all.  Did  Mrs.  Shiers  tell  you  everything?” 

“No,  but  your  question  does.  Doctor.  You  were 
the  kind  and  considerate  friend  who  guarded  the 
man’s  secret  and  saw  him  quietly  interred  here.  Tell 
me  the  last  chapter  in  the  man’s  history  and  I’ll  for¬ 
give  you  for  hoodwinking  me.” 

“It  was  for  that  purpose  I  brought  you  here, 
Burbanks,”  said  Dr.  Gillman.  “At  i  o’clock  on  the 
morning  of  Sept.  10,  last  year,  I  was  aroused  from 
my  beauty  sleep  by  the  violent  ringing  of  my  night  ' 
bell.  I  dressed  hurriedly  and  went  to  the  front 
door,  where  I  was  astonished  to  find  Mrs.  Toplass, 
in  a  dreadful  state  of  agitation.  ‘Doctor,’  she  cried^ 
‘for  heaven’s  sake  come  to  the  house  right  away; 
Henry  has  returned  and  needs  your  attention.’  I 
was  doubly  astonished  by  this  intelligence.  The 
Toplass  residence,  as  you  know,  is  but  four  blocks 
from  my  house,  and  we  were  there  in  a  few  moments. 


204 


BY  THE  GRAVE  AT  WOODLAWN. 


On  a  sofa  in  the  parlor  lay  Captain  Shiers  mutter¬ 
ing  wildly  to  himself  and  shaking  violently.  He 
gave  a  glad  shout  of  recognition  on  seeing  me,  and 
said  in  a  husky  voice:  ‘it’s  the  first  time  in  years, 
Gillman,  but,  hang  me,  it’s  given  me  a  shake.  Went 
to  see  a  friend  off  to  Europe  and  we  had  to  drown 
the  sorrow  of  parting.  Came  near  drowning  myself, 
old  fellow;  here  I  am  though,  still  in  the  ring,  but 
groggy,  not  only  on  my  pins  but  all  over  my  car¬ 
cass.  And  Nellie,  here,  has  been  weeping  and 
watching  forme.  I  promised  to  take  her  and  the 
children  out  this  afternoon,  and  she  was  disappoint¬ 
ed,  poor  girl.  Sorry,  Nellie;  it  won’t  occur  again.’ 
I  knew  at  once  what  the  trouble  was.  The  man  had 
had  a  violent  shock  of  some  kind,  and  his  brain  had 
turned  into  the  old  groove;  he  imagined  that  he 
was  Henry  Toplass  again,  and  the  thread  of  his  dual 
personality  was  resumed  exactly  at  the  point  where 
it  was  thrown  off  six  years  before.  His  breath 
smelled  strongly  of  liquor;  under  ordinary  circum¬ 
stances  it  would  have  been  right  to  conclude  that 
he  was  suffering  from  over-stimulation.  I  gave  him 
an  opiate,  and  when  he  quieted  down  I  interrogated 
Mrs.  Toplass,  who  was  crying  bitterly,  as  to  how  he 
acted  when  he  came  to  the  house.  “Just  about  the 


BY  THE  GRAVE  AT  WOODLAWN.  205 

same,  doctor,”  she  answered  between  sobs.  ‘The 
bell  rang  loudly  about  midnight,  and  I  opened  the 
front  window  and  asked  the  cause  of  the  distur¬ 
bance.  “It’s  Henry,  Nellie,”  cried  a  well-known 
voice,  which  sent  a  pang  through  my  heart,  for,  oh. 
Doctor,  as  you  know,  only  a  few  weeks  ago  I  found 
him  masquerading  under  an  assumed  name  and 
living  with  another  woman.  I  was  tempted  to  call 
the  police  and  have  him  taken  away,  but  I  could 
not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  do  so.  The  sound  of  his 
old,  familiar  voice  called  back  my  slumbering  affec¬ 
tion,  and  I  ran  down  stairs  and  admitted  him.  He 
staggered  into  the  parlor,  saying:  “I’m  sorry, 
Nellie;  forgive  me.”  When  I  lighted  the  gas  I  saw 
his  pitiable  condition,  and  I  came  at  once  for  you, 
Doctor.  Is  he  seriously  ill.  Doctor,  and  why  do  you 
think  he  deserted  and  denied  me?’ 

“I  told  her  frankly  that  Mr.  Toplass  was  in  a 
dangerous  state,  and  wanted  perfect  rest  and  quiet. 
That  something  serious  had  occurred  I  was  con¬ 
fident,  and  to  avoid  scandalous  complications,  I 
deemed  it  expedient  to  remove  the  man  to  my  own 
house.  ‘He  will  be  better  under  my  immediate 
care,’ said  I  to  Mrs.  Toplass. 


206 


BY  THE  GRAVE  AT  WOQ'DLAWN. 


“The  effects  ot  the  opiate  wore  off  in  an  hour  or 
so,  and  Shiers,  who  was  timid  and  docile,  readily- 
agreed  to  go  home  with  me.  He  had  an  idea  that 
he  required  particular  medical  treatment,  and  said: 
‘Don’t  worry,  Nellie;  Gillman  will  bring  me  round 
all  right  by  morning.’  I  took  the  man  to  my  own 
bed-room  and  sent  my  coachman  for  a  man  whom  1 
could  trust  implicitly  to  nurse  him. 

“It  is  not  necessary  to  go  into  all  the  details  of 
the  man’s  sickness.  He  was  in  a  very  dilapidated 
condition  and  symptoms  of  cerebral  softening  soon 
manifested  themselves.  At  the  time  you  intimated 
that  justice  required  full  particulars  in  regard  to  his 
career,  to  aid  in  the  man’s  detection,  he  was  rapidly 
sinking.  I  knew  that  it  would  impose  unnecessary 
suffering  on  those  two  innocent  women  to  publish 
the  facts  to  the  world,  and  that  the  man  would  soon 
expiate  his  crime  by  succumbing  to  his  inherited 
malady. 

“He  rambled  a  great  deal  toward  the  end;  some¬ 
times  his  assumed  character  had  the  ascendancy  in 
his  delirium,  and  he  would  cry  out  about  Nellie  and 
the  children;  at  others  he  would  be  plain  Jack 
Shiers,  with  his  thick  Yorkshire  brogue,  babbling 
about  little  Bob  and  his  lass,  Lizzie.  Mrs.  Toplass, 


BY  THE  GRAVE  AT  WOODLAWN. 


207 


who  was  made  seriously  ill  by  the  shock  of  his  re¬ 
turn  and  pitiable  state,  was  kept  ignorant  of  the 
facts  of  the  tragedy.  To-day,  so  far  as  I  know,  she 
is  still  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  most  lamentable 
incidents  in  his  history.  I  had  to  tell  her  some 
things,  for  when  she  came  quietly  to  see  the  sick 
man  he  often  let  fall  expressions  which  aroused  her 
curiosity.  Toward  the  last,  under  a  pledge  of  strict 
secrecy,  I  informed  Mrs.  Shiers  of  her  husband’s 
whereabouts  and  condition,  and  I  brought  her  in  my 
carriage  to  visit  him.  She  is  all  that  you  have  de¬ 
scribed  her — a  sweet,  lovable  little  woman,  with  a 
heart  too  noble  and  refined  for  this  rough  world. 
The  man  died  peaceably  in  her  arms.  That,  in 
brief,  is  the  last  page  in  Shiers’  strange,  eventful 
history.” 

“Of  course  you  had  reasons  for  burying  him 
under  the  name  of  Toplass,”  I  said. 

“Yes,”  was  the  reply;  “one  was  that  he  was 
Henry  Toplass  prior  to  sinking  into  the  sleep  of 
death;  another  that  the  burial  certificate  would  not 
at  that  late  day  cause  perplexing  inquiries,  and  still 
another,  that  it  freed  Mrs.  Toplass  from  embarrass¬ 
ments  which  might  at  some  time  interfere  with  her 


208 


BY  THE  GRAVE  AT  WOODLAWN. 


peace  and  comfort.  She  broke  up  her  establish¬ 
ment  in  Chicago  two  months  ago  and  has  gone 
abroad  with  her  children.  I  do  not  think  she  will 
return  to  the  United  States,  since  her  last  words  to 
me  indicated  that  she  contemplated  marriage  with 
an  old  suitor,  who  is  permanently  settled  in  the 
south  of  France. 


V 


